


Constrained by the Wonder

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A correction to "The Second Wave."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constrained by the Wonder

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Bring 'em Back Alive #2, Cindy Ranscourt editor, and reprinted in Green Floating Weirdness #18 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"This is all a land of shadow, Harrison."_

 

_Horses are creatures who worship the earth_

_They gallop on feet of ivory,_

_Constrained by the wonder of dying and birth_

_The horses still run, they are free… **[1]**_

 

          "Debi, close your eyes…"

          The horror and denial in the child's eyes burned through Lieutenant  Colonel Paul Ironhorse, more excruciating than the shards of agony slicing through him, twisting his mind and chest into suffocating knots.  But the pain held him on his feet, the rest of his life force having been stripped away by the aliens.

          He squeezed on the trigger, feeling the cold as the metal moved millimeter by millimeter toward the extinction of his life – and that of the clone's.

          The sound, deafening.  A flash of light, searing.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "How?" the scientist, Xlavor, fumed.  "Why is he still not ready?"

          "His mind is stronger than we anticipated," his assistant replied, uncomfortable with the emotional outburst, and in front of the envoy, too – Xlavor must be more frightened than he appeared.  "It is really quite interesting, he—"

          The envoy cut the minor scientist off.  "His mind is a tangled shred of what it was, but still he refuses!  In each scenario you run he finds a way to destroy the replica. How?  You assured us the programming was foolproof, that no human mind could resist it."

          "We need more time," Xlavor whined.  "He is not resisting.  He is using the images to his advantage.  We don't know how he—"

          "We have no more time!" the envoy fumed.

          "It is unlikely he will survive another conditioning," Xleenon added calmly.  Even the envoy was disturbed.  Whatever the Advocates had planned, many lives hung in the balance, many Mor'Taxan lives.

          "If this process does not work on one human, it might not work on others.  It must be perfected.  If there is a weakness in the clone, you must find it."  The envoy's statement left no room for argument.

          Xleenon attempted to calm the representative.  "This human knows about us. And, he is a warrior, perhaps—"

          "He and the others must carry out their instructions.  If the clones are not fully programmed, we have no way of insuring our success.  Only then can we release them to take the humans' places.  Their minds are not that strong or complex.  You will start again."

          "But—" Xlavor began, his voice a shrill whine.

          "There is no other choice!  Already our agents have begun to abduct the humans the replicas will replace.  The Advocacy will not tolerate failure in this matter.  If Colonel Ironhorse dies, you will have to explain that he was flawed, a poor subject for your tests and find another."

          "Very well," the head scientist capitulated.  "We are nothing without the council of the Advocates."

          The envoy nodded.  "To life immortal."

          "To life immortal," the two scientists echoed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The images began.  A part of the Colonel's mind recognized them as dreams, or hallucinations – something repeated over and over.  Only the pain was real in the continuum of insanity, and he clung to it, focusing on the source.

          Cloning.  Ironhorse understood what it meant, but the reality was excruciating.  Tearing at his soul, the alien scientists pulled it out by pieces, teasing what they wanted from his memories like threads from a cloth, leaving his sanity tattered and bare.  He convulsed in the glowing, half-organic womb, bruising himself further as he collided with the sides of his prison.

          His only thoughts were of fighting back, shored up by the memories of another time and place, a different enemy torturing his mind and body.  The two realities merged and parted without Ironhorse's control, but the need to resist remained strong.

          The clone moved sluggishly in its adjoining chamber and Ironhorse felt its wakening consciousness.  He turned his head, watching the monstrosity's fingers curl and flex as the replica tested a new ability.  The soldier felt torn in half, his perceptions split while his captors searched for the appropriate image with which to program the clone.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Foreign emotions swelled up, crashing across his mind and nearly swamping the soldier's resolve.  A desperate sobbing gasp echoed in the small, enclosed space.  He was losing the fight, slowly but certainly, and he knew it.

          The images continued.  Killing Norton… then Harrison… the others…

          Ironhorse ground his teeth against the clone's hatred – _alien_ hatred, focused on the race imperiling its existence, humans.  Destroy them.  Destroy the humans… Destroy…

          "This is _not_ my hate!" he growled at the two scientists.

          He _would_ stop the creature.  He knew its weakness, something the scientists had missed.  Somewhere in the realm of chaos and insanity Paul Ironhorse saw with uncompromising vision what would destroy the clones.  If he could just control a fraction of the rush of images…

          Debi's face?

          Ironhorse faltered.

          "Leave her alone!" he commanded.

          He was holding the gun to the girl's head.  He was going to kill her!

          No, not him.  The clone.

          Only one way…

          He forced himself to concentrate, focus, pulling in the images in that he needed. The Beretta… rising…

          There!  He tucked the M-9 under his chin.  It was cold against his skin.  A sure kill.

          "Debi, close your eyes."

          _Pull!_ he ordered the conjured image of himself.

          The Beretta discharged, scattering the remainder of his life across the wall behind him.  An explosion of light and sound ripped through Ironhorse and he cheered – the sound nothing more than a feeble whimper in the cloning chamber.

          He'd won another round.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          They were gone.  Ironhorse's awareness, reaching out, testing, confirmed the fact.  He was alone.  He did not understand how he knew, only the information was important.  It was over, for now.

          He forced his eyes open.  Try again.  Escape.  If not, death remained the final option.  The enemy would not use him as a weapon against the others.

          Struggling weakly against the imprisoning mucus-coated tendrils in the cloning chamber, Ironhorse extricated himself as quickly as his cold, trembling fingers, only half under control, allowed.  Peeling the last filaments away, the Colonel struggled to free his shoulders, then reached out, clawing over the edge of the chamber and sliding to the floor in a macabre parody of birth.  In the chamber next to his lay the clone, watching him.

          _Destroy it!_ a part of his mind commanded as he stared into the shining black eyes, but the warrior knew he lacked the strength.

          Using his elbows, Ironhorse dragged his uncooperative body into a small crawlspace, moving along the dirty corridor, hoping it led to freedom.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "This way," Kincaid whispered.

          Harrison Blackwood nodded, the usual puckish astrophysicist remaining grim.  He squeezed the grip of Suzanne's automatic tighter.  He hated guns, detested them, but he could no longer refuse to handle one.

          _This might be a trap_ , he thought, _and we're walking right into it without the Colonel_.

          _And what choice do we have?  If there's any chance Ironhorse isn't dea—_

          He shut the thought off, forcing himself to concentrate on scanning the surrounding area.  The Colonel was missing, gone for eleven days, dead, or worse.

          _Accept it_ , Blackwood commanded himself, but he couldn't.  _Ironhorse_ can't _be dead!_   The scientist knew some might describe his opinions of the man as exaggerated, but he'd seen Paul in action, knew him better than—

          "Blackwood," the mercenary whispered hotly.  "Get up here."

          A maze of rusted, cobweb-clouded machinery littered the factory floor.  It was the perfect place for an ambush.  _And I'm not helping_ , Harrison thought, hurrying to join the man.  "What is it?"

          "Look, I know you're worried," Kincaid whispered, "but this isn't the time or place."

          Blackwood nodded.

          The Brit sighed, then turned back to the job at hand, leading them to the agreed-upon meeting location.  The astrophysicist promptly fell behind again.  Pausing, the mercenary whispered, "I really do know what you're feeling.  I lost a brother to this damned war no one knows we're fighting."

          Blackwood nodded.  "I'm sorry, I—"

          "And here I am, right in the middle of it, again.  You stay with me, and you stay ready.  I don't plan on getting killed because your mind is wandering."

          "I understand.  Let's go."

          "This damn well better be a lead, Colonel," the merc muttered under his breath to the missing man.  _These people need you, and I have a little unfinished business to settle with you myself_.

          Kincaid moved steadily and silently forward, easing around several more tangled knots of blue-gray metal.  Blackwood followed a few steps behind, hoping the man knew what the hell he was doing.  The mercenary wasn't the Colonel, but he was doing the best he could.  Besides, the scientist admitted, it would be impossible to find someone to step into that particular pair of combat boots – or moccasins.

          The missing man had obsessed all of the Blackwood Project members' thoughts, and their spirits had been sagging lower every day with no clues as to what had happened to him.  Then Kincaid had arrived, rescuing Harrison from what had been shaping up as a very bad situation.  That buoyed their spirits a little, and later it was with Kincaid's help that they finally turned a lead.  An old buddy of the Brit's contacted him, claiming he knew where Ironhorse was.  They would find out…

          Kincaid raised his hand and Harrison stopped, staring intently over the merc's shoulder.  Two figures waited in the gloom, one pacing nervously while the other sat on a large crate, smoking a cigarette.

          "Wait here.  Cover me," Kincaid instructed, easing into the black labyrinth of machinery and emerging from a position nearly opposite from Harrison.  The scientist trained the gun on the pair, praying he didn't have to use it, and wondering if he'd be able to if it came to that.

          "Dobbs?" Kincaid questioned.

          The man spun, his weapon rising in a conditioned reflex.  He lowered it immediately upon recognizing the dark-haired man.  "Kincaid," he said softly.  "You took your own damn time, kid."

          The merc shrugged, watching the seated figure, who remained immobile beneath a dirty tarp draped over his shoulders.  "You the guy who found Ironhorse?"

          The man nodded, crushing out the butt of his cigarette on the top of the crate.

          "Deke.  He was with me…" Dobbs trailed off when his companion leveled a dark glare on him.  "Ugh, we've known each other a long time, Kincaid.  You can trust him."

          The Brit stepped over to the man and studied the sharp features hidden under dirty auburn hair and several days worth of beard.  "You show me the man, and I'll see that you're paid."

          "That's the deal," Dobbs replied for the silent Deke.  "I go, too."

          "Fine," Kincaid said.  "But I don't have the money on me.  My partner does."

          "Partner?" Dobbs asked, the waver in his voice betraying his nervousness.

          "The one who's holding a gun on you right now."

          "Let's go," Deke said, a faint smile touching his face.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse continued to crawl forward.  Time passed, overlapped, retreated.  Wriggling through the filth and debris, he had no idea how far away he'd escaped from the horror.

          _Just keep moving_ , he commanded his rapidly failing muscles.  _Can't let them take me back.  Keep moving.  Just like 'Nam…  Move…_

          The first traces of sunlight drew a painful grunt from the soldier.  Halting his slow forward progress, Ironhorse instinctively sniffed the faint breeze.  Freedom waited somewhere close by.  Grinding his teeth against an acute spasm vibrating through his energy-drained body, the soldier started forward again.

          _Blackwood_ , he thought.  _Where are you?  Where the hell's the squad?  What the hell happened here?_

          When the hands touched him, Ironhorse collapsed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Only a small step up from the alleys surrounding it, the Dexter Hotel housed the remnants of men and women who had lost their own personal wars.

          The four men entered.  Kincaid reached beneath his jacket, resting his hand on the butt of the Glock in his shoulder holster, ready in case of trouble as they passed the filthy rooms, but the shadows faded back from the doorways as they passed.

          Harrison's jaws clenched.  What if they did find Ironhorse here?  What had happened?  What could the aliens have done to him in eleven days?  What if he'd been absorbed?  _What if, what if, what if!  Stop!_ he snapped at himself.

          _Ironhorse_ is _alive.  He has to be._

 _Damn you, Colonel.  You've survived everything else life's thrown at you, this better not be the exception.  You're too damned important for us to lose you now_.

          Blackwood smiled to himself.  _This is crazy.  Me, feeling protective of the great Colonel…  He'd just love that—_

          The astrophysicist took a deep breath and squeezed the fear and loss back into a corner of his heart.  It would have to wait.  _Just be alive, Paul.  We can deal with it from there, but you have to give me a chance_.

          Deke led them up two flights of nearly rotted stairs to the third floor, and a small room that had once been the janitor's closet.  A dirty blanket covered something heaped in the corner.  Harrison's heart pounded rapidly against his breastbone and he forced himself to draw a deep, cleansing breath.  _This is it…_

          Kincaid approached the mound of material cautiously and, reaching out, lifted the edge of the soiled blanket.  Filthy stands of black hair clung to an ashen forehead, obscuring part of a man's face, but the sunken features, bruised and discolored, belonged to Paul Ironhorse.

          "Colonel?" Kincaid whispered.

          "The bastard saved my life," Dobbs whispered, his voice a mixture of awe and loathing.  "He kicked my ass out of his precious Delta Force unit, but he saved my life.  I owed him."

          The mercenary motioned for Blackwood to join him.

          Looking down at the huddled man, Harrison felt a wave of vertigo shake him, threatening to overwhelm his consciousness.  Ironhorse looked like a corpse.

          "Easy," Kincaid said, reaching out to steady Blackwood with a firm hand on his shoulder.

          Harrison dropped to a knee and probed the cold, clammy skin of Ironhorse's neck.  He found no pulse.  A second, stronger wave crashed over him.  He breathed deeply… in… hold… out, slowly… center.

          _He won't be dead_ , Harrison told himself.  _Not now._ Not _like this_.

          He pressed again, harder.  A faint, thready flutter tickled against his fingertips.  "We have to get him back to the Cottage, fast."

          Kincaid nodded, reaching into his jacket and pulling free an envelope.  He handed it to Dobbs, who snatched it away with a avaricious grin.

          "Hope he's worth it," Deke commented dryly as they left.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "How could he escape?  He was near dead!" Xlavor ranted, pacing near the cloning chambers.

          "I do not know.  But he dragged himself for a considerable distance.  Then other tracks—"

          "Is the clone safe?"

          "Yes," Xleenon said, wondering if this was finally going to be the opportunity he'd been waiting for.  It would be good to be a head scientist at last.

          "Have a search started."

          "It will be done."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The fingers gripping his shoulder had startled Ironhorse, the surge of adrenaline forcing him into semi-consciousness.  Two men.  They turned him over.

          Familiarity prickled along Paul's awareness.  They lifted, carried him out into full sunlight.

          _Where are they taking me?_ Ironhorse wondered.

          They could be aliens…

          _Fight!_

          A second surge of adrenaline hit his system, giving Ironhorse the strength to twist weakly in their hands.  One of the men growled something unintelligible.  A cacophony of images and sensations rushed by, and the soldier retreated to the fox-hole dug deep into his own consciousness over the past eleven days.  He waited.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "I never would've believed it, if I wasn't seein' it with my own eyes," Dobbs commented while the Colonel dragged himself to the corner of the small room and curled into it.

          Deke grunted.  "I still say we oughta've left him there.  He worth anything to anybody?"

          The man snorted.  "This is the famous Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse, United States Army Special Forces.  I think we might find someone who wants him." A smile spread across his face.  "In fact, I think I know who it might be.  I gotta go make a call."

          Deke grabbed a dirty blanket off the small cot sitting along one wall of the tiny room and tossed it over the man.  "Yeah, well, he looks like shit, Dobbs.  You better find a taker before he checks out."

          Ironhorse heard the men leave.  The semi-darkness beneath the blanket was warm, but he was still cold and the space was growing increasingly more constricted.  Too weak to force his hands up and draw the rough material away from his face, he retreated back to the mental fox-hole.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse sensed the men's presence before they opened the door.  There were others.  A stronger tingle of familiarity roused his consciousness.

          Someone approaching.  He prepared himself, unsure if his body would respond. The man lifted the blanket away, and Paul peered out, unobserved, from nearly closed eyes.  _John Kincaid?_

          A second man replaced the mercenary.

          _Blackwood?  Thank you, Grandfather.  It's about time…_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Hurry," Harrison said, checking Ironhorse's pulse for the third time between two signal lights.

          "I'm doing the best I can," Kincaid replied, maneuvering Norton's van through traffic like a runaway amusement park ride.

          Part of Blackwood's mind nagged him to take Ironhorse directly to a hospital, but something stronger contradicted the notion.  Reaching out, he lifted the soiled blanket and stared at the Colonel's bruised body, half-hidden under a layer of pale-green mucus dried across his skin.  The wounds didn't appear severe enough to account for the tortured expression on the man's face, and it was that expression which frightened the astrophysicist.

          "What the hell happened, Paul?" he whispered as he swallowed hard and covered his friend up.  The soldier's head rolled to one side, and Harrison thought he saw the man's eyes flicker open for a moment.  "Colonel?" he questioned, laying his hand on the top of the man's head to hold it steady.

          The eyes cracked open again.  "No… hospital," Ironhorse ground out.  "Too… dangerous."

          "I know," Blackwood soothed.  "We're taking you back to the Cottage."

          "Omega knows… what to do… instructions…"  The Colonel's eyes rolled back and Harrison felt the tension in the man's body ebb.

          _No hospital, Paul_ , he promised silently.  There were tests they had to run first, before any decision could be made.  Regardless of what he wanted to believe, they had to be sure this was still their Paul Ironhorse.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Suzanne, get the door," Harrison said, helping Kincaid maneuver the blanket-draped soldier out of the van.

          The microbiologist stepped back, holding the door open to the Cottage.  "It's about time, we were getting worried," she said, studying the gray cast of Ironhorse's face.

          "It was a little more complicated than we expected," Harrison explained as they carried Paul directly to the elevator.

          They rode down to the basement in silence.  Suzanne sprinted ahead to open the annex door.  Inside, she had prepared a lab table after Kincaid had called on the mobile phone to tell her and Norton they'd found Ironhorse.

          "Over here," she directed.

          Once Ironhorse was on the table, Kincaid stepped back to let the two scientists work.  Harrison reached for the Geiger counter first, checking for any traces of radiation. A slightly higher than normal reading, but not what they would expect if the man had been taken over.  Suzanne confirmed Ironhorse's humanity with a quick blood test.

          When she finished she joined the astrophysicist, who was standing immobile at the head of the table, staring at the still blanket-draped form of the soldier.

          "Harrison, what are we waiting for?"  She reached out to remove the blanket, but Blackwood grabbed her wrist.

          "Suzanne, wait, he's—"

          "I'm not some squeamish schoolgirl."  She jerked free of Blackwood's touch, yanking the blanket off in the process.  "Ohmygod."

          Blackwood waited for the initial shock to wear off.  A year ago, Suzanne would have maintained her professional distance, but war had a funny way of breaking down certain walls at the same time as it built up others.  He saw the tears fill her eyes.

          "Listen to me.  As far as I can tell, the bruises are superficial."  He lowered his voice, speaking more to himself.  "He must've put up a helluva fight."

          "He would," she whispered softly, rubbing the back of her hand over her eyes.  "He looks so… so weak.  And what is this stuff?"  Reaching out, she picked a piece of the flaking material off Ironhorse's shoulder.

          "You're the microbiologist, Suzanne, you tell me.  Come on," he said, patting her arm.  "Let's get him cleaned up so we can see what's going on."

          She nodded, moving off to gather what they needed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Once Ironhorse resembled something more akin to a human being, Harrison was both consoled and more profoundly worried.  The soldier appeared relatively undamaged, physically.  The bruises were widespread, but there were no internal injuries that they could find.  Still, he couldn't escape the feeling that very little life force remained in the man.

          "It's like all the energy's been drained out of his body," Suzanne said softly, confirming Blackwood's impression.  She watched his chest rise and fall with forced, shallow breaths, as though breathing took all his remaining effort and energy, then covered him with a third blanket to help fight an increasing hypothermia.  "How could they do that?"

          "More important, how can we put it back?"

          It was the helplessness, the absolute vulnerability that frightened the two scientists.  The proud warrior, reduced to a mere shell lying on the examination table, brought to life their worst nightmares.  The fierce energy Ironhorse possessed, strong enough to carry them through the worst of situations, had been stripped from him, stolen.

          "Doc?" Norton called from the doorway to the annex.

          "Yeah?" Harrison asked, turning away from the frustrations building up in himself.

          "Sergeant Coleman gave me this and asked me to give it to you."  He held out a small document file.

          Inside, written in Ironhorse's strong script, Harrison found a set of instructions.  When it came to the security of the Project, the officer was unwilling to leave anything to chance.  But then, that was his job.  Blackwood read the instructions a second time, then handed them to Suzanne.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Don't you think I know he's dying!" Blackwood snapped.  Suzanne balled her fists in frustration, but she remained silent.  "I know, Suzanne.  I know," he repeated more softly.  "My God, I know."

          "Harrison," she began, trying not to upset the man further.  She followed him to the phone.  "We don't have a choice.  We don't have the facilities.  If he goes into respiratory arrest—"

          "Suzanne, please, try to understand."  Blackwood continued, punching the last numbers out.  "We know he's not—"

          "Exactly why we should get him to a hospital – _now_ ," she interrupted, wishing Norton were there to help her break through Harrison's stubborn determination to follow Ironhorse's instructions.

          "But they won't know how to treat him."

          "And a medicine man will?"

          Harrison's attention snapped to the voice at the other end of the line.  "Joseph Lonetree?  Hello, sir, we met once before.  This is Harrison, Harrison Blackwood…  Yes, that's right…  We have a situation here.  Colonel Ironhorse left instructions for me to call you…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Look, I realize how crazy this sounds, believe me," Harrison said, reaching out to gently grip both of Suzanne's shoulders.  "And I'll admit I haven't been the most stable person since Paul disappeared, but I know this is right for him.  He said so himself."

          "He wrote a series of scenarios, Harrison.  He couldn't predict what the exact circumstances surrounding his abduction would be, and this—"

          "Don't ask me to explain, because I can't."  Harrison broke the contact, pacing across Ironhorse's office.  He had entered the colonel's domain earlier to wait while the Omega squad made the arrangements to move them and the Colonel.  Being in the room helped him to center.  "I'm just asking you to trust me. Trust _him_.  Please.  We know the physical injuries aren't the problem here.  They've done something to his mind, and whatever it is, it's killing him."

          "Harrison—"

          "We're ready to go," Norton said from the doorway.  "The Omegans and Kincaid have him loaded.  And Doc, he's getting worse."

          "Suzanne, I know this is right.  He's a warrior.  Let's treat him like one."

          "He's a man, Harrison.  Just a man."  But Blackwood's expression melted her resolve.  "All right," she sighed.  "Let's go."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_My body is merely the shell of my soul_

_But the flesh must be given its due_

_Like a pony that carries its rider back home_

_Like an old friend that's tried and been true…_

 

          The members of the Blackwood Project watched while two young men carried Ironhorse into an earthlodge.  Close to fifteen feet in diameter, the dome-shaped structure was supported by a sturdy log frame and covered with sod.  Hung with a brightly colored blanket, the doorway opened to the east.  The others living in the small Sierra community of Carson watched the Project members with a mixture of curiosity and impartiality.  An unusual mixture of native peoples, whites, the Carson citizenry constituted a small religious community practicing the spiritual paths of the ancient Native Americans, Eastern derivatives as well as a smattering of various New Age philosophies.

          Suzanne hugged Debi to her side, sensing the girl's concern.  Why she had let Blackwood talk her into bringing her daughter along was beyond the microbiologist.  She should have demanded that Debi be taken to a new safe house, but Lonetree had told Harrison they would all be needed, and she had found herself choking back the objections.  Ironhorse had grown into a replacement for the father who had deserted her daughter, and she knew Debi was facing the same fears again.

          "He'll be fine," she whispered, giving her daughter's shoulders a squeeze.

          "I know," Debi said softly, watching a young woman collecting bushy gerardia near the wide river that provided the community with water.  She smiled.  The Colonel had taught her a little about plants and animals and how the Cherokee used them for medicine.  It was their secret, and she wondered if these Indians would be able to help her friend.  He had been so still during the trip, almost like he was frozen.  Although her mother had tried to keep her distracted, Debi had spent most of the trip staring at the soldier.

          Kincaid shifted uncomfortably, feeling out of place.  Why they had to come all the way out up was still a mystery, but Ironhorse's Omegans had carried the move off rapidly and without mishap.  It was clear he'd hand-picked and trained the soldiers himself.

          One of the non-com's, Sergeant Derriman, had remained behind at the Cottage, in command of a small squad unit borrowed from Ft. Streeter.  They would place the house under surveillance to ensure the aliens had not discovered its location.

          In Carson, the rest of Omega squad quickly blended into the landscape – Kincaid wasn't exactly sure where they were – setting up a perimeter around the collection of small trailers and cabins that comprised the community.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Norton's attention was focused on Blackwood.  The astrophysicist's detached expression worried the computer expert, and he wondered if Harrison had finally given in to the pressures.  The leader of the Blackwood Project was standing in the middle of the camp, his eyes unfocused, as though a part of him had accompanied Ironhorse into the earthlodge.  Before the black man could ask if that was true – after all, he'd seen Harrison do some pretty weird tricks – an old Indian man, his buckskin trousers and   red flannel shirt rendering him a vision out of a time long past, approached.  A young woman walked along behind him, reminding Drake of the descriptions he'd heard of Grace Lonetree.

          John Shio Greencorn, one of the spiritual leaders of the community, nodded a welcome to the concerned group.  "I am John Greencorn, but I am called Shio.  My grand-daughter, Leslie, will watch out for the child," he said in a soft, deep voice.

          Debi scowled at the reference, but took the woman's proffered hand and followed her anyway.

          Suzanne watched her daughter go, anxious, but feeling she would be safe with the young woman.  _Get a grip_ , she cautioned herself.  _You're starting to get caught up in all this mumbo-jumbo.  What does Paul call it when Harrison's doing it?  Ooga-booga, that's it…  Well, it's as good a description as I can come up with._

          "Thank you for helping us," Harrison said, extending his hand.  "I'm Harrison Blackwood.  This is Suzanne McCullough, her daughter, Debi, and Norton Drake.  The man you have in there is Paul Ironhorse."

          "I hope we'll be able to help, Dr. Blackwood.  I owe Joseph Lonetree a great deal."

          Harrison lowered his voice unconsciously.  "I know he couldn't tell you much about what's going on, and I'm afraid I can't either."

          "I only need to know it's Joseph who's asking."  The old man smiled.  "The rest can wait."

          "Are you a doctor?" Suzanne asked, liking the old man despite her doubts about what they were doing.

          "I'm a healer."

          "Can we see Paul?" Norton asked.

          "Yes.  I'll need your help.  You'll have to share your strength with him."

          They didn't understand exactly what Shio meant, but each nodded their willingness to do whatever was necessary.

          They followed the man to the door of the earthlodge, Harrison helping Norton with a steady push from behind.  Nearing the structure, the astrophysicist noticed a subtle but real shift in the atmosphere, although he was at a loss to decide what it was, or how he knew.

          Norton shivered once.  "You feel that?" he asked.

          "Yep," Blackwood said softly.  "Like we're stepping across the threshold of an energy field."  _Strange_ , he thought.  _I wonder what it is_.

          Even Suzanne had taken a few steps on her toes as they'd neared the lodge.

          "Huh, I'm going to need a little help getting inside, folks," Drake said.

          "I think I'd better wait out here," Kincaid added hastily.  "Just in case."

          Harrison nodded, reaching out to scoop up Norton.  The Brit apparently understood this was something the three of them needed to do – alone.  That was good, and the merc's standing took a positive jump in Harrison's evaluation.

          "You been raiding the ice cream again?" he teased the computer expert as they entered the structure, surprising himself as a surge of hope rolled through him.

          "Just don't drop me, Doc.  I never did bounce well."

          Once inside the earthlodge Harrison and Suzanne paused, allowing their eyes to adjust to the low level of light and the mixture of steam and burning sage filling the structure.  The heat was slightly uncomfortable, but they followed the old man's directions, taking seats on the ground where he pointed.

          Blackwood lowered Norton to the ground, helping him arrange his legs so he could sit comfortably.  Shio produced a short, stout branch that was padded on one end that the black man could use as a prop if he grew tired.

          When he was comfortable, Norton studied the inside of the lodge.  "Sort of like a movie, huh?" he asked.

          Suzanne nodded.  "I just hope it's one with a happy ending."

          "Amen to that," the black man said, the usual humor in his voice replaced by sincere earnestness.

          What little light there was in the circular earthen room came from a fire burning in a shallow pit dug into the dirt floor at the southern point of the circle.  Blackwood sniffed the air, trying to identify the odors drifting from a small cast-iron pot near the door.  The scents rose, mingling with the steam curling out of a second, smaller pit of heated rocks currently tended by a middle-aged black man sitting at the western point of the circle.

          Harrison's brow wrinkled.  He and the others sat in the north.  It was familiar. Something that he'd read once?  He wished he had his tuning fork with him.  The four directions – north, south, east, west, each with particular elemental associations…  It was a concept common to several mystical belief systems, but how could it help Ironhorse?

          _Wait and see_ , he decided.  _It's all connected at some level.  Everything comes down to energy, and the Colonel needs all the energy he can get right now_.

          Stripped except for a small breechclout, Ironhorse lay on an elaborately woven ceremonial blanket, his head pointing toward the east.  His legs were spread slightly, his ankles circled with animal fur and bound with leather straps to wooden stakes set into the ground.  Harrison frowned but said nothing.  The two young men who'd carried the soldier into the lodge finished wrapping the Colonel's wrists in an identical fashion, tying them to a second set of stakes above his head.  When he was secured they nodded to Shio, then left.

          For what felt like the millionth time since Norton gave him Ironhorse's handwritten instructions, Harrison hoped the old man knew what he was doing.  _Why not Lonetree instead of Shio?_ he wondered.  Joseph was a shaman.  But he trusted Paul; the man had saved their butts too many times not to, and Ironhorse trusted Lonetree.  And if Joseph Lonetree said Shio could help, then he could help.

          Shio began chanting softly, breaking through the astrophysicist's thoughts.  Harrison watched as the man set a small piece of leather on the dirt floor next to Paul and opened it to reveal several ritual items.  Taking three eagle feathers bound together with braided horsehair, he continued to chant while waving them along the man's body, just above Ironhorse's ashen skin.

          Shio frowned.

          Someone had removed the bandages covering the worst of Paul's superficial wounds.  The injuries, all of them more ugly than dangerous, repulsed the astrophysicist, but he couldn't stop himself from staring.  What had happened?  Who had held Ironhorse?  And what had they done to him?  Why couldn't the aliens be reasoned with?

          Harrison felt Suzanne shift nervously beside him.  Her eyes were locked on the shaman, stubbornly refusing to contemplate what the soldier had endured, focusing instead on the healing.  Harrison knew he needed to do the same.

          "He's gotta make it, right?  I mean, that's our Colonel, Mr. capital-A-for-Army-by-the-book-need-to-know Ironhorse," Norton said softly, watching the shallow rise and fall of the soldier's chest.  "So why am I so scared?"

          "We're all scared," Blackwood replied quietly.

          Shio set the eagle feathers aside and reached for a small pot filled with a thick, pasty red clay.  Scooping out a small amount with his finger, the medicine man drew a single red line down the middle of Ironhorse's body from the crown of his head to the top of the breechclout.  Next, the shaman took up a pot of white clay, added a small amount of water from an old mustard jar, stirred the mixture with his finger, and then drew a series of circles, half on either side of the red line.

          "Chakra points," Harrison whispered as he watched.

          "Is that good?" Norton asked.

          Harrison shrugged.  He cleared his throat, hoping the shaman wouldn't mind an interruption.  "Shio, can you explain what that means?"

          Greencorn continued to draw out the circles as he spoke.  "These are the doorways for souls.  One of his souls has run away.  When it returns, we see which doorway it uses, then I'll know what I have to do next."

          "But why would a soul desert the body?  I mean, _how_ could it do that?  We call that dying.  Unless you mean something like astral projection?" Suzanne questioned, then looked accusingly at Blackwood, whispering, "I'm starting to believe this stuff?"

          The old man smiled indulgently.  "There are many kinds of souls.  The soul of the Body, the soul of the Heart, the soul of the Mind, others.  Who can say why a soul does what it does?  But, when one runs away, the other souls become sick and confused.  They try to find their missing brother, and abandon their tasks.  When the soul of the Self runs away, the person dies – but that is the soul of all souls.

          "When a single soul runs away, the Body tracks it and brings it back.  But if the physical body grows too weak, then the soul of the Body cannot find the lost soul, or defeat it, and the man dies."

          "So you're trying to help the Colonel's body find the missing soul?" Norton asked, not sure if he believed any of it, but hoping nonetheless that it worked.

          "This is to help the physical body.  We will give Ironhorse the tools of the earth and spirit world, then, when his Body's ready, it will go hunting.  When he finds the runaway soul, they will fight – since the soul won't want to come back.  If the Body wins, the souls will return together through one of these doorways."

          Ironhorse, who had lain perfectly still, barely breathing, since they'd found him, moaned slightly.

          "The Body prepares now," Shio said.  "It won't be long.  He's stronger than I thought," the shaman added.  He lit a small sprig of dried leaves with a lighter, chanting as the smoke curled into the air, mixing with the steam.

          While Shio waved the sprig over Paul's unmoving body, Harrison watched the subtle changes occurring in his friend.  A sheen of sweat had broken out across Ironhorse's face and chest, and his muscles had begun to twitch, tugging weakly against the restraints.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse knew something out of the ordinary was happening, but he wasn't exactly sure what it was.  He snorted.  As if _anything_ had been "normal" since he'd run into Harrison Blackwood?

          An extremely practical man, Paul Ironhorse had difficulty dealing with the notion of forces greater than those he could explain empirically or rationally.  Still, his grandfather, Lonetree and others, had awakened him to many powers greater than himself.  And, in his own way, so had Harrison Blackwood.

          Paul still wasn't comfortable with the ideas, but he couldn't dismiss them anymore, either.

          _And those powers must certainly be in play now_ , he concluded.  How else could he explain the fact that he was standing in the middle of what looked like a primeval forest – in nothing more than a leather jockstrap?  He glanced around self-consciously.

          In one hand he held the traditional tomahawk of his ancestors, in the other, his M-9 Beretta.  Slipping the revolver under the leather thong holding the breechclout on, he started forward into the dimly illuminated foliage.  In the distance he heard the bark of a wolf stretching out to a long call.  That was his objective.

          He tracked the animal meticulously, cautiously, his body moving swiftly and silently over the forest floor in the ancient tireless trot of his forefathers.  The forest was unlike the jungles where he had honed his abilities, but it was close enough, and nothing escaped the soldier's attention.

          Sensing the nearness of the creature, he slowed from the trot to a careful walk, his moccasin-shod feet silent on the accumulated layers of dried pine needles and old leaves.  The wolf was close.

          A low snarl, nearby, froze him for a fraction of a moment – long enough for the large black canine to leap to the first attack.  Blocking the beast from his throat with the tomahawk, Ironhorse fell backwards to the ground, landing roughly.

          Rolling sharply to the side, he scrambled away from the animal before it locked its teeth into his arm, but a stab of pain numbed his right leg as the claws caught, laying open three neat furrows on his thigh that each filled with blood.  Ironhorse tossed the tomahawk aside, crouching to meet the animal's angry glare with one of his own.

          The wolf charged, teeth snapping again for his throat, but the soldier jerked to one side, his foot thrusting out to catch the animal's soft belly.  The wolf collapsed, shaking its large head, pink tongue lolling from one side of its mouth.

          They circled, each watching for an opening.  The wolf leaped and Ironhorse grabbed for the Beretta, shocked as the animal mutated, becoming a large black eagle, its talons reaching out for his face.  Only Ironhorse's battle-trained reflexes kept the bird from blinding him.

          Twisting hastily down and away, one of Paul's hands snapped out, snaring the bird by one talon-tipped foot.  With an unearthly scream, the eagle remolded itself back into the wolf, and Ironhorse found himself holding one leg of a very angry, snarling set of fangs.

          Dropping the gun, he grabbed the side of the wolf's face, twisting just in time to divert the teeth from his throat; but they sank into his shoulder, and Ironhorse moaned in pain.  The animal struggled in the man's grip, both of them falling again.   Lunging to straddle the thrashing wolf, Ironhorse dug his fingers into the thick black fur and hung on with all his strength while the animal fought wildly, trying to dislodge him.  Feeling his strength ebbing, the warrior used what was left to hug the beast to him as tightly as he could.

          "Please, brother," Paul said through clenched teeth, "don't fight me."

          The wolf calmed, lying still in his grasp, panting heavily.  A soft whine escaped the animal's throat.

          "Easy, friend.  I don't want to hurt you."

          The black wolf tilted its head back slightly and released a long, mournful howl, and Ironhorse found himself echoing it with a cry of his own.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison forced himself to watch as Ironhorse's body twisted savagely on the blanket.  Sweat dissolved several of the white circles, washing them away, and Shio explained that those doorways were now closed to the soul.  The attendant dribbled more water across the hot rocks, increasing the steam in the lodge – the rising heat echoing the climb of the soldier's fever.

          The members of the Blackwood Project had long since stripped off as much of their clothing as they could, and what was left clung, sodden, to their bodies.  The smoke from the burning leaves and powders stung their eyes, but it was Ironhorse's suffering that hurt the most.

          Harrison had to constantly fight back the impulse to scramble over to the man.  There was nothing he could do, but the obvious pain Paul was suffering was nearly intolerable.  He knew Suzanne and Norton felt the same, and he reached out to take one of the microbiologist's hands in his own.  Suzanne squeezed, and reached in turn for Norton.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse felt the first ripples of change wash over him.  A swift panic swelled in the soldier, but the change was faster and he suddenly found himself merged with the large black wolf before he could react.  From this new perspective, he sensed the eagle, and reached out to embrace it, hoping to quell the disorientation that was shaking through him, but it winged away from his consciousness.

          What was happening to him?  _How_ could it be happening?  He must be going insane.

          Memories flashed through his mind:  a mission gone sour… the aliens… a chamber, claustrophobic… pain.

          The wolf stood, its legs weak and trembling, and shook itself.  Ironhorse was trapped.  Tilting its nose upward, the animal tested the wind, then set off at a slow lope. The soldier tried to control the direction, but all of his efforts failed.

          Recognition dawned.  Something had happened to him.  Something he couldn't bring himself to remember, and the wolf was fleeing the memory.  As they picked up speed, Ironhorse felt a second change begin.  The silent fall of the padded paws began to ring on the increasingly hard-packed ground until it was a steady, pounding beat.  Looking out through the animal's eyes he realized he was taller, feeling the long, stretched out movement of muscles now more compact.

          He was a horse?

          The large black stallion shook its head, forcing itself on faster and faster along the top of a high, crumbling ridge.  Below, a steep canyon opened up, its jagged sides layered in a rainbow of sediments hardened over millions of years.  It was breathtaking, beautiful, and Ironhorse found himself momentarily lost in the vision, swept up in the feel of the animal's power and stamina as it raced along the ridge.

          He didn't see what was coming until it was too late.

          Reaching the end of the red-clay ground, the stallion gracefully collected itself and leaped, sailing out over the canyon lip.

          He fell.

          Ironhorse yelled, the sound drawing out into an eagle's cry, and he dipped his wing feathers, soaring back up on a thermal – free.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          A scream broke through the sound of Paul's labored breathing and the soft chant Shio maintained.  The soldier convulsed one last time, bucking violently against the restraints.  Jackknifing at the circle just below his navel, the force pulled one of the stakes holding his wrist out of the ground.

          Harrison felt Suzanne jump and squeezed her hand tighter.

          "Harrison?" she questioned.

          The astrophysicist studied Ironhorse's features carefully.  Was that a smile he saw flit across the man's face?

          "Is he okay?  I think it's over," Norton said, more to himself than the others.

          The scream fell off into a agony-ridden groan as Ironhorse's body went limp. Shio and his assistant were already moving.  Knives flashed in their hands, cutting free the rawhide straps.  The pair lifted the soldier and, supporting him upright between them, dragged him out of the lodge.

          The two scientists scrambled to their feet, and Norton waving them out, saying, "Go, go."

          Suzanne smiled her appreciation and followed Harrison, who was already past the blanket door.

          Raising a hand to shield her eyes from the late afternoon sun, the microbiologist sucked in a breath when she realized what was about to happen.  The two men were headed directly for the wide river, running through the community, Shio still chanting.

          "Harrison, no!" she called, starting forward.

          "Suzanne, wait," he said.  "It's out of our hands now.  Let them do what they have to."

          "But he won't survive.  He's too weak.  That water's cold.  It'll stop his heart!"

          Blackwood gave the woman a sturdy shake.  "Suzanne.  He _won't_ die!  They know what they're doing."

          The pair watched as the men lowered Ironhorse into the river.  Sliding below the surface, he bobbed back up a moment later, floating face down.  The assistant dove in, swimming to the injured man, and rolling him over so he floated on his back.  The remaining circles were gone, but the red line remained.  Shio smiled.

          "The Body has won," he announced as they joined him at the edge of the river.  "The missing soul has returned."

          The black man guided the unconscious Colonel to the edge of the riverbank, then lifted him out.  With Harrison's help they carried Ironhorse to a waiting cot, set up near a medium-sized fire, ringed with flat stones, that burning in the center of the camp.

          Kincaid sat on a folding chair near the snapping flames, sipping on a cup of coffee and watching.

          "Now what?" Harrison asked the shaman.

          "Now we let the body rest.  Tomorrow it will be time to reunite the souls."

          "How do we do that?" Suzanne asked, hoping it would be easier than what she had already seen.

          "We won't.  He will," Shio said, nodding at Ironhorse.  "If he can.  It's not an easy thing to do.  The pieces of his self have been torn apart.  Once he's whole, then he will be ready for the final healing."

          "Final healing?" Blackwood asked.  "Why don't I like the sound of that?"

          "He has to face whatever caused his soul to run away in the first place.  I'm going to get some sleep.  You should do the same.  We will leave him outside, where he's close to the earth and the sky."  Shio turned and walked off toward a small trailer parked near the river.

          "You realize you were in there seven hours?" Kincaid asked when the old man left.  "Sergeant Coleman checked in.  Everything's quiet at the Cottage, and there hasn't been a peep from any of the guys here."

          "That's good news."  Harrison checked his watch.  "Seven hours?"

          "Feels more like seven years," Norton commented as a very tall, very muscular Asian man carried him over to the fire and settled him in his waiting wheelchair.  "Think I could get Gertrude fitted for four wheel drive?" he questioned, settling himself.  The others smiled.

          "Where's Debi?" Suzanne asked, looking around the small camp.

          "She's sleeping," Kincaid responded, nodding to another trailer sitting under a small stand of willow trees.  "The old man's granddaughter is with her."

          "Good," she breathed, kneeling next to Harrison, who was watching Ironhorse sleep.  "Let's see how he's doing," she said, moving to examine the Colonel.  "Pulse is still a little thready.  Respiration's shallow, but steady.  His color looks better, but he's still weak.  I'm surprised he's alive, Harrison."  She reached out, touching Paul's bare shoulder.  "And, I'm scared.  I don't want us to lose him."

          Blackwood patted her arm.  "He's too stubborn to die."

          Suzanne smiled, as did Norton and Kincaid.  Cupping the soldier's bruised cheek gently in her hand, she whispered, "You hear that, Paul Ironhorse?  You're too stubborn to die.  So don't you dare prove us wrong."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_Eagles inhabit the heavenly heights_

_They know neither limit nor bound_

_They're the guardian angels of darkness and light_

_They see all and hear every sound…_

 

          Ironhorse remained unconscious as the sun finally slid behind the mountains in the west.  Kincaid erected a four-man tent, supplied by one of the locals.  With the weather so pleasant, the Project members welcomed the opportunity to curl up on blankets in the small nylon dome and sleep – a commodity that had been in short supply over the last two weeks.

          Norton and Suzanne succumbed first, leaving the mercenary and Harrison alone at the fire. They sat in silence, staring at Ironhorse, or into the flames, each lost in his own thoughts.  Finally the astrophysicist excused himself and joined his coworkers.

          However, Harrison found the succor of sleep elusive, and he settled for several hours of forced meditation before rising at dawn and, after checking on Ironhorse and finding him still unconscious, began a circuit around the small community of Carson, talking to the people who lived there.

          He returned an hour later, intercepting Leslie Greencorn and Debi as they were bringing them breakfast.  Freeing Debi from half her burden, Blackwood followed the two young women over to where a small table had been set up just outside the tent.

          Kincaid helped roll Norton and Gertrude over to one end of the table, where the black man busied himself pouring coffee from the waiting pot into the cups Leslie had dropped off earlier.

          Suzanne sat with Ironhorse.  Leslie called to her, and she pulled the blanket up to cover the man's chest and joined them.  They dished up the multigrain pancakes and passed the plates around.

          Harrison was surprised to discover he had an appetite.

          Leslie explained to Suzanne that she and Debi would be spending the day on a nature hike.  The microbiologist nodded, reminding her daughter to be careful.

          "I will, Mom," the sixteen-year-old said, glancing nervously at the Colonel.

          When they finished, Leslie gathered up the dirty dishes, and with Debi's help, carried them back to her trailer to be washed later.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Shio finally emerged from his own trailer and returned to the earthlodge, carrying the top of a copier-paper box containing several small plastic containers full of colored sand.  The mix of modern and traditional drew a tired smile from Blackwood.

          Excusing himself from the table, he trotted over to the old man.  "Mind if I join you?" he asked the shaman.

          Shio shook his head, saying, "No, not at all."        

          They entered the lodge.  The fire still burned in the pit, but the steam and smoke had dissipated, leaving the air fresh and touched with a clean, earthy smell.  The stakes and blanket Paul had laid on were also absent.  The shaman pointed to a spot next to the small fire pit.

          Blackwood walked over and stood, watching in silence while the old man carefully smoothed the dirt floor with a broom of dried pine needles.  That finished, he opened one of the containers of sand and poured some into his hand.

          "This is the path of the self," he explained.  "Ironhorse will begin here…"  He poured out a circle of red sand, then placed a small mound of yellow sand at the center.  "…and travel through the land of shadows."

          Shio began moving about the lodge, using sands of various colors to construct a complicated pattern on the floor.  "The land of shadows is very dangerous.  There are beings there that wait for lost souls.  They try to confuse the soul so it can't find the way back.  Then the Homeless-One can take the soul's place in the body."

          "Transmigration," Harrison said.  "I'm familiar with the concept.  But can Paul find the scattered parts of himself in this land of shadows?"

          "Yes, I think so."

          "Can we help?"

          Shio completed his work, finishing next to Harrison with a three-part design made up of eagle, horse, and wolf heads.  "This is a map of sorts.  It'll be up to him to find his way, but you and… the woman and—"

          "Suzanne, and Norton."

          "Suzanne, and Norton, thank you.  I never was good at names," he grinned.  "You three will sit here, and that will also call to him and make the path clearer.  When his soul returned it entered through the warrior's door, so his warrior spirit has not been broken.  He is a strong man."

          Harrison nodded.  "Yes, he is."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Already positioned inside the earthlodge like before, Norton, Suzanne, and Harrison watched the same young men carry the Colonel's body back into the prepared lodge, laying him on a new blanket in the center of the space, his head pointing to the west.  Earlier, two older women had come to the campfire and, after chasing them away from the cot, had washed Paul.  When they had finished, the two young men were already waiting.

          This time they tied leather strips around the soldier's body, binding his legs together and trapping his arms along his sides.  As soon as they left, Harrison heard the soft beat of hide drums begin outside the lodge.

          The threesome exchanged concerned glances as Shio prepared a glass of water, stirring in several powders.  Reaching under Ironhorse's shoulders, the shaman lifted the man's head just enough to pour a small amount of the liquid into his mouth.

          Paul moaned, then coughed quietly, but he drank the rest of the liquid without hesitation.

          Laying the soldier back down, Shio removed two large quartz crystals from the pocket of his overalls, slipping them into the wounded man's hands and curling his abraded fingers around them.  Ironhorse's restlessness immediately increased, and he occasionally fought against the straps, but rather than the physical throes of the night before, a series of emotions battled themselves out across the sharp-featured face.

          Watching, Harrison thought he understood better what was happening.  First Shio had directed Ironhorse through what had amounted to a physical healing, and now the soldier was fighting through an emotional one.  Harrison understood how a mind might be lost in the deep seas of emotion.  He'd dealt with his own nightmares often enough.  But who would return from such a journey was impossible to predict – a whole man, a shell of what had been, or some perversion that was neither.

          A period of quiet followed each emotional catharsis.  During those times, the Colonel's eyes flickered at an accelerated rate beneath his closed eyelids as he lived out his journey through the land of shadows in fast forward.

          Ecstatic joy was followed by profound sadness, body-racking anger by care, and hate was followed by fear.

          Never had Harrison seen Ironhorse break down so totally emotionally, and the overwhelming sobs that shook the man were more than he could stand.  Only a stern warning from Shio to stay away from Paul held Harrison in his place, letting his friend suffer through the ordeal alone… at least he thought it had.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse ran.  Pure desperation sang through his veins, fear like he'd never known.  No moment in his life had prepared him for this.  Even as a prisoner of war, the Vietcong torturing him and his men had not generated this kind of terror.

          He continued to run.  Behind him, the echo of the clones, gaining ground on him spurred his rapidly failing stamina, and he pushed on.  The trailing footsteps grew louder.

          They weren't just clones.  They were clones of his friends – clones of the people he had grown to love as family, the people he had sworn to protect, even at the cost of his own life.

          Ducking into a dim alley, Ironhorse gripped the Beretta tighter.  How could he kill them?  How could he shoot Suzanne, Norton, Harrison… Debi?

          No.  Impossible.

          But if they caught him…

          He shoved the thought away.  A rough scraping behind him snared his attention. Spinning, he had no time to think as Norton Drake raised his modified jo stick, ready to crush Ironhorse's skull with the steel-core, wooden weapon.

          Survival instincts, honed to perfection in war, took control and the soldier watched in detached horror as his Beretta rose.

          Breathe… release… aim… squeeze.

          Again.

          Norton jumped twice before collapsing, pulling the wheelchair over with a clatter that reverberated in the alley like marbles in a metal drain.

          Ironhorse fled.

          Turning another corner in the maddening maze, he nearly collided with Suzanne.  She smiled, the expression practically blinding him to the automatic she leveled at his chest.  He fired again before he could stop himself.  Suzanne fell.

          "You bastard!"

          He spun, desperate to escape the carnage and atrocities inflicted on his friends.  Blackwood.

          "Harrison, please—"

          "Bastard!" the astrophysicist screamed.  Blackwood stood, his fists clinched into tight balls, his face a mask of hatred.

          "Harrison, wait—"

          The scientist lunged for him, Ironhorse easily sidestepping the attack.  When Blackwood turned for a second attack, he held a knife.

          "Listen to me!" Paul screamed at the man.  "Harrison, please!"

          Blackwood charged, the weapon opening a furrow along the soldier's ribs.  Ironhorse did the only thing he could.  He fired.

          "Very impressive," he heard himself say.

          Turning, Paul faced himself in the bloody alley.

          "But you realize that they weren't really clones, don't you?  They thought _you_ were the clone, Colonel."  The parody of himself smiled a crooked smile and then laughed.

          "No!" Ironhorse screamed, lunging.  The clone raised his matching Beretta and fired, hitting Ironhorse mid-chest, locking the man's body in place.  A wave of pain shuddered through Ironhorse as he fell.

          The sound of people running echoed up through the ground, and Ironhorse pressed his face against the cold pavement as a new terror began to unfold.

          Harrison, Suzanne and Debi rounded the corner of the alley, jerking to a stop when they saw the clone and their fallen friend.

          "It's all right, people," the replica said, his voice a perfect copy of the Colonel's.  "I got him.  This clone's wasted."

          _No!_ Ironhorse screamed, his voice trapped in the ruined body.  _He's lying!_

          The realization was staggering.  He _had_ killed clones, _not_ his friends, but now they were unprotected, and his own clone—

          "Thank God," Suzanne said, putting an arm around her daughter and hugging Debi to her side.  "Paul, we were so afraid."

          Norton rolled up to join them.  "I guess that was no problem, huh, Colonel?"

          "No, Mr. Drake, no problem at all."

          _Run!_ Ironhorse screamed in vain.  _Run, damn you!  It's_ not _me!_

          The clone smiled the hauntingly familiar crooked smile, the Beretta snapping up with sharp efficiency at the same time.  He fired twice, and Norton fell over, his chest destroyed.  Debi screamed.

          Before any of them could even react, the replica re-centered the weapon on Suzanne and fired.  The woman jerked back against the wall of the alley where she hung for a moment, finally sliding to the ground, a streak of red marking her course.

          Debi screamed again.

          _No!  My fault.  Run, Debi!  Move it!  Run!  Run!_

          Harrison reached for the girl, intending to pull her out of the line of fire, but the duplicated reflexes of the clone were too fast.  The sixteen-year-old joined her mother in violent death.

          Blackwood froze, watching the girl fall.  The clone chuckled.  "You're next, Doctor."

          "Why, Paul?"  The astrophysicist's voice was a pleading whisper filled with the aching pain of betrayal.  "For God's sake, why?"

          _It's not me, damn it!_ Ironhorse cried out.  _Kill it, Blackwood!  Hurry!  Kill me! Kill me!_

          "Goodbye, Harrison," the clone said coldly.

          How he pulled himself off the cold alley pavement, Ironhorse was unsure, but he lunged forward as the replica's hand began to rise, a primitive scream tearing from his throat as his fingers wrapped around the clone's wrist.  The Beretta fired.  Harrison leaped back, but he was uninjured.

          The two Ironhorses grappled, the clone reaching out to snare the injured man in his arms.  "You'll be trapped in me, Colonel.  Trapped forever!"

          "Run!" the original Ironhorse screamed.  "Run, Harrison!  _Now!_ "

          Blackwood hesitated for a moment, but then he bolted from the alley.  Ironhorse watched him escape from the corner of his eye while a twisted, green, three-fingered hand emerged from the clone and, reaching into his already mutilated chest, grabbed the soldier's soul.  The replica laughed uproariously as he squeezed the very essence of Ironhorse's being in his alien fingers.

          "I have you!" the replica gloated, pulling the helpless Ironhorse out of his body.  "You're mine!"

          "But Blackwood lives," the Colonel replied in a feeble whisper, feeling a sick blackness beginning to seep into his being.

          The clone laughed, the insane noise echoing along the alley walls like waves of crashing symbols.  "He's in my world now, Colonel.  There's no escape for him here."

          _No!_   Harrison had to be free!  The world needed him.  It could not all be for nothing.  Suzanne, Norton, Debi, they were too important to be wasted like that.  He could _not_ let that happen.  _Harrison!_

          "I'm right here, Paul.  It's all right.  I'm here."

          The words echoed in from somewhere Ironhorse could not identify, but their truth was undeniable.  Harrison was free.  He had failed his friends, but Harrison had escaped.  There was still hope.

          "I'm right here, Paul.  It's all right.  I'm here."

          Suzanne gripped Blackwood's shoulders to keep him from collapsing face first onto the ground.  He jumped slightly, thinking he had been half-dozing and half-caught up in the sound of the drums and chanting.  He looked at his friend and was amazed to find Ironhorse's eyes shut, his body relaxed.

          "Hey, where've you been, Doc?" Norton asked.

          "Huh?"

          "I thought you were going to join him for a minute," Suzanne added worriedly.

          Blackwood looked at the woman in utter confusion.  "Suzanne, what're you talking about?"

          A wave of concern passed over her features.  "When Paul was so frightened, you…"  She trailed off.  "Well, you sort of glazed out, and you started talking—"

          "Wait a minute, I don't like the sound of where this is going."

          Shio chuckled.  "You are afraid to face the truth?  You couldn't stay out of the land of shadows, Harrison.  It was a dangerous move, but it looks like no harm was done… to either of you."

          Blackwood stared at the Colonel.  Wait… he did remember something… fear.  Overwhelming fear.  Something was…

          No, he couldn't see it.  It was Ironhorse's fear, but he had been there.  And whatever it was, it had come after him.

          But Paul had stepped in, diverted it… Ironhorse had faced it full force… to spare him…

          _My God_.  Harrison shuddered.

          Shio untied Paul, then prepared a second glass of water, this time with a sprinkle of a single white powder, and a mint leaf.  Ironhorse drank the concoction without objection.  When he finished, the shaman called out to the men outside.  The drums fell silent and they entered the lodge and carried the soldier back to his cot by the campfire.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison sat with his friend, wondering what the last phase of the healing would be like.  Although this hadn't appeared to take as much out of the man physically, it was clear he was still frightfully low on energy.  He was still fighting, but was that enough?

          He tried, but couldn't conjure anything in his imagination that he thought could chase Ironhorse's soul away.  The man was well-named.  Still, something had managed it.  There had been a hint of that in the encounter earlier.  But it was so powerful…

          _What am I doing?_ Blackwood scolded himself.  _No negative thoughts, Harrison_ , he told himself.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          There was so much about this man he didn't know, still.  So much that was walled up, hidden so deep Harrison wasn't even sure Ironhorse could see it any more.  But they had both seen a fraction of it today, of that he was sure.

          He studied the Colonel's face.  The color was better, and the bruises were beginning to fade.   But even in sleep, or unconsciousness, pain creased the man's face, drawing the skin tight across his cheekbones.  It was far from over, and there were no guarantees on the outcome.

          Reaching out, he touched Paul's face, the warm skin beneath his fingers a comfort.  Inside, Harrison fought back his own swelling frustration.  Every fiber of his being cried out for the insanity to be over.  But it wasn't.  There was still a war to be fought.  And, damn it, he wanted this man by his side – whole.  He needed him and his calm assurances, his discipline, and his council.  He needed his friendship.  To even think he might lose all that after coming so far was too much.

          Was the world mad?  Or maybe they were.

          Harrison reached down to gently clasp the soldier's exposed shoulder, absently rubbing at the tension coiled in the muscles as he tried to force his own fears away through touch.  The light red-brown skin was slightly warm, a reminder of the fever still subsiding.

          Shio had warned them that the last healing would be the worst.  But Ironhorse was alive, and, so long as he was, there was still a chance it would all work out.  The Colonel would face whatever it was and deal with it as efficiently as he did everything else.  They would get him back, whole and healed.  And just maybe he would have something new to tell them about the aliens, something they could use to defeat them.

          They would win the war one day.  They couldn't afford not to.

          "Please, Colonel… Paul," Harrison whispered in the still night air.  "Don't leave us.  We need you.  We need your strength."

          "You think he heard?"

          Harrison looked over his shoulder.  Norton was propped up on one elbow, watching from across the low-burning fire where he'd had Kincaid lay out a blanket so he could sleep closer to the man who had protected them for so long.

          "I don't know, Norton.  I hope so."

          "Yeah.  Me, too.  I miss all that military protocol, the spit and polish."

          Blackwood smiled.  "You hear that?" he asked the unconscious soldier.  "You'd better wake up soon, we're all starting to get sappy."

          Norton chuckled softly, then lay back down.  "Night, Doc," he said, drifting off to sleep again.

          Blackwood smiled sadly.  _Be honest_ , he told himself.  _You're too afraid to hope and too afraid not to, and now you're down to spouting sappy clichés_.

          "Harrison?"

          The voice was barely above a whisper and at first the scientist thought it was a breeze moving through the nearby willows, but looking down he saw the firelight reflected in the open black eyes.

          "Paul?"

          "Don't let me…" Ironhorse rasped out, all his energy focused on communication. He had to make the man understand.  "You… kill me… if he's real… too dangerous… don't let me."

          "Don't let you what?" Harrison asked, gripping the man's shoulder more tightly.  "You're not making sense.  You'll be fine.  Just keep—"

          "Stop me," Ironhorse said, his eyes starting to roll back in their sockets.  "Kill me…  Kill me first."

          "Kill you?  For God's sake, Paul, what're you saying?"  Blackwood jumped when a hand gripped his shoulder.  Shio.  "Where?  Did you hear him?  What—"

          "Come with me.  We need to talk."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison wondered why Norton hadn't heard the macabre conversation.  Suzanne and Kincaid were sleeping in the tent, too far away, but Shio must have heard it.  It was all too confusing.  Too much stress, not enough sleep.

          He wasn't sure how far they hiked from the camp, but he was surprised none of the Omegans stopped them.  He had spoken to Sergeant Coleman earlier, when   the soldier made her tour through the camp to check on the Colonel and the rest of them.  He had wished he had better news for her, but Coleman had taken it in stride, reassuring him that the Colonel would be fine.  The faith of Ironhorse's unit, if it could be tapped, would have him up and on maneuvers in less than a minute.

          The distracted astrophysicist collided with the shaman.  Stepping back, he apologized.

          "Sit," Shio instructed.

          They were standing on a large granite boulder, worn smooth by the passage of ice over it when Shio's ancestors first began to wander over the North American continent.  There was a sense of power in the stone, and Harrison welcomed it, even if he didn't understand it.  And he was simply too drained to dwell on it.

          The two men sat together, facing east while the first traces of sunrise illuminated the horizon.

          "What did he mean?" Harrison asked softly.  "I don't understand what's happening here."

          "He's seen what might happen."

          "You mean the future?  Something that's going to happen?"

          "Something that might happen."

          "But we can change it," Harrison said, the slight feeling of relief not enough to make the terror building in his gut subside.

          "He can change it."

          Harrison smiled thinly.  "But he thinks it's definitely going to happen—"

          Shio nodded.  "Paul saw a path that was built for him in the land of shadows. And what lies on that path made his soul run away."

          Harrison nodded, finally feeling like he was beginning to understand a fraction of what was happening to them.

          "There are many worlds inside this one," the shaman continued.  "Yesterday you stood in two.  Ironhorse must face what he's seen there."  Shio reached out and rested a hand on Blackwood's shoulder.  "He'll need you there, all of you, but if he fails, you'd do well to heed his warning."

          "Kill him?" Harrison asked, aghast.  "I couldn't.  He's my friend.  I—"

          "He will be nothing if he fails, a ghost that hasn't died.  You might think I'm a crazy old man, but there's a great power loose in the world.  Some would call it evil, but I think it's something else, something not of this world, something out of place, neither good nor evil.  If he fails, that power will work through him."

          Harrison shivered in the cool morning air.  The old man knew more than he realized.  Still…  "I can't kill him.  I won't, it—"

          "Harrison," Shio interrupted, his voice ringing with uncanny resemblance to Ironhorse's.  "I'll understand if you can't do it.  But you'll have to let me do what I must."

          "Colonel?  Paul?" Blackwood asked shakily, staring at the old man's glazed eyes and finding his friend's staring back at him.  _This is getting weird, even for me!_

          "Promise me, Harrison.  You won't interfere."

          "Interfere with what?  I don't know what—"

          "Doctor!" the voice snapped, the familiar annoyance echoing like the times when Blackwood resisted something the Colonel thought was imperative.  "You have to trust me.  I know it won't be easy, but I cannot allow them to use me against you and the others.  The Project's too important.  You're too important.  I'm a soldier.  I'm replaceable."

          "No, Paul, you're _not_ replaceable!  We need you here.  You're more than our chief of security.  You're our friend."  He paused.  Did he really believe he was talking to Ironhorse?  The astrophysicist wasn't sure, but he hoped so.  "What the hell's going on here?"

          "This is all a land of shadow, Harrison," Ironhorse's voice said, a trace of amusement lacing the words.  "Just trust me, Harrison.  When the time comes, allow me to make my own choices."

          "I trust you, Paul.  You know that.  But I don't understand this, any of this."  The scientist's shoulder's sagged and he dipped his head.  "I'll do my best.  I'm just confused…"  He looked back up into the eyes of the old shaman.  "And scared."

          "Fear is an ally, Dr. Blackwood," Shio said, his voice returned to normal.

          In the distance, a faint wail of a wolf echoed in the predawn glow.  The two men listened as it rose and fell, fading with the increasing light.

          "It is a good sign, full of power," the shaman said with a crafty smile.  "You see, there are forces working on our side as well."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_My spirit will never be broken or caught_

_For the soul is a free-flying thing_

_Like an eagle that needs neither comfort nor thought_

_To rise up on glorious wings…_

 

          Harrison returned to find Suzanne and Debi sitting on either side of Ironhorse, talking to the unconscious man in quiet, reassuring tones.  Nearby, Norton sat in Gertrude, a cup of coffee resting on his knee as he kept a watchful eye on the threesome.  Kincaid was gone.

          "Where've you been, Doc?" the computer expert asked.  "You had us a little worried.  Kincaid's out scouting around for you and Omega's on the alert.  We were starting to think someone had found this place.  You know, that merc's as stubborn as the Colonel."

          Blackwood smiled.  "He is, is he?"

          "What's next?" Suzanne asked Shio, standing to join the astrophysicist.  He gave her shoulders a quick squeeze.

          "We'll prepare this morning, and this afternoon take him to the last healing.  Then I'll have done all I can."

          Debi joined her mother.  "Mom, I want to stay with you this time.  I want to help.  Please?"

          "I don't know—"

          "She will be needed tonight," Shio said before Suzanne could object.

          The microbiologist studied the old man's wrinkled face.  His black eyes were so sure.  She nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The fire in the pit snapped as Shio added a handful of pine needles, their aroma filling the air.  Ironhorse lay on a buffalo hide, his head pointing north, his hands stretched out to east and west, bound as they had been for the first healing. However, this time both of the soldier's ankles were tied to a single stake set in the south.  The bruises scattered across the Colonel's body glowed an eerie yellow-green in the firelight.  The scratches that criss-crossed his naked chest and thighs reflected red, and a white headband, tied around his forehead, highlighted the fading purple bruises on his face.  It was a grisly rainbow, but for all of that, he still looked stronger.

          Seated on the dirt floor near Ironhorse, the foursome was distributed around the compass points.  Debi was at the east, Suzanne the south, watching her daughter with concern, while Harrison sat in the west, and Norton was arranged in the north.  Kincaid was also with them – at Shio's insistence – sitting between Suzanne and Debi, while Shio himself sat between Harrison and Suzanne.

          The shaman nodded at Debi, and she lifted the lid on a small bowl of burning herbs, allowing the smoke to drift up, filling the earthlodge with a fuzzy haze.  Harrison felt his perceptions waver momentarily, but the sensation passed quickly.

          Shio nodded to Suzanne, who added more needles to the fire pit.

          Harrison's turn came, and he dipped the willow branch he held into a pot of water sitting in front of him, flinging the drops over Ironhorse and the others.

          Norton reached into a smaller pot sitting on his lap and scooped out a small amount of the white ash.  Using one hand for support, he leaned forward, smudging the ash across Ironhorse's forehead, just below the headband.

          Kincaid was next, and Harrison watched as the mercenary hesitantly removed a knife from its sheath on his belt.  Taking the tip of the blade, he paused for a moment, then cut a short, shallow line into the palm of his hand.  He frowned, allowing the blood to well up as he replaced the knife.  The Brit then stuck his finger into the pool of red, and after receiving a nod from Shio, moved forward and mixed the blood with the white ashes on Ironhorse's brow.

          Harrison watched the tautness of the soldier's body increase, every muscle fiber poised for battle.  Maybe they were.

          The shaman moved forward.  Opening a small piece of folded wax-paper, he poured a portion of a brown powder into his mouth.  Then, covering Ironhorse's lips with one hand, forcing the soldier to breath through his nose, Shio leaned forward and gently blew the powder into the man's nostrils.

          The Colonel's body bucked upward and he fought frantically against the restraints, his muscles writhing beneath the abused layers of flesh.  His face, frozen into a mask of pain and fury, reflected the firelight, adding an unearthly cast to his already flushed skin.  His lips curled off his teeth in a feral snarl, and a low growl echoed out of his chest… like a wolf's?

          Shio poured the remainder of the brown powder into the fire where it sparked, sending a cloud of smoke rolling into the lodge.  Harrison and the others coughed and the astrophysicist felt the same waver in his perceptions.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "We have to stop him," the Colonel said, his voice a weak echo of what it usually was.  Kincaid and Blackwood continued to help him out of the grotesque alien contraption.  Repulsed by the prison holding his friend, Blackwood also longed for the time to investigate exactly what it was.  But time was something he was afraid they had run out of.  Together the three staggered off into a foggy void.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The Cottage was quiet when it emerged out of the gray swirl, but the evidence of death was unmistakable, the coppery smell of blood alerting them before they saw the bodies.  Moving toward the house, Ironhorse swore quietly under his breath as they passed members of the Omega squad, their bodies lying at sick angles in the yard, all dead.

          The Colonel shuddered, and the two men each grabbed an arm, to keep him on his feet.  "No," he whispered, the desperate edge to his voice so unlike him, that Blackwood faltered.

          "What?" Harrison asked, wondering if he was hallucinating, or if he and Kincaid had actually made it into the world of shadows with Ironhorse.

          "Norton… I killed Norton," Ironhorse whispered, his voice breaking slightly.  "I told you," he said, the black eyes accusatory.

          "Come on," Blackwood said.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The threesome entered the Cottage and found Norton, lying in a growing pool of blood, his chest blasted open.  Ironhorse clutched his mid-section and forced himself on.  There still might be time to destroy the monster before it could harm the others.  He had to try.

          "Split up, find Suzanne, Debi," he whispered.

          "Colonel, you're—"

          "Go!" Ironhorse snapped in the best command voice he could muster.  The two men hesitated for a moment, but they moved off.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison stopped short when he entered the living room.  Outside a storm had started, thunder and lightening erupting from nowhere into full-blown fury, like the horror of the nightmare they found themselves trapped in.

          "Shio!" Blackwood screamed when he saw a duplicate of Ironhorse standing across the room, his arm around Debi's throat.

          Suzanne moaned softly from somewhere nearby, but the astrophysicist couldn't see her in the thick undulating blackness that filled their usually cheerful refuge from the outside world.  A flash of lightning cast a blue runner of light through the room.

          "Some part of you must still be Ironhorse.  Please, let Debi go," she pleaded.

          "Clone," Ironhorse whispered.  "They can duplicate us…"  His voice trailed off, the body too exhausted to continue.  He took a deep breath, and forced the strength up from somewhere.  "We're linked… somehow… no stopping them… except…"

          Across the room, the smirking grin on the clone's face faded as Ironhorse gripped the cool handle of the Beretta that had materialized out of thin air.  Something deep in Ironhorse's mind recognized the changes.  This was not the scenario he'd seen so many times before.  This was different.

          There might be a chance, if he could just…

          "No, you can't know," the replica hissed.

          "Debi, close your eyes," Ironhorse said softly, his voice conveying all the love and affection he held for the child.

          Tears spilled over her cheeks, but she kept her gaze locked solidly on the man she trusted.  "Colonel?" she said, the voice trembling with fear and confusion.

          "Debi, close your eyes," he repeated.

          Harrison looked frantically around the room, trying to find the shaman, or anything that could stop the atrocity he knew was coming.

          Ironhorse lifted the Beretta slowly, his hands trembling with the effort, but nothing could prevent him from tucking it securely under his chin, pointed toward the part of his brain that controlled his autonomic functions.

          "We're the same," the clone hissed.  "Your memories and emotions created me.  We are one, brother.  I am Ironhorse."

          "You're wrong," the solider rasped out.  _Remember, this is different.  You have a chance.  Destroy it_.  "Not the same…  You're killing the people I love."

          Blackwood's attention snapped back to Ironhorse.  The pain in the man's eyes was tangible.  "Shio!  For God's sake, help us!" he screamed, watching helplessly as Debi read the truth in the Colonel's eyes.  He couldn't carry out the act if she was watching, and somehow she must have understood he had no choice.  Her eyes closed.

          "Shio!  Please!"  Harrison watched the flicker of a smile cross Ironhorse's face.  He could defeat the clone, and his replica knew it.

          Then, in his own consciousness, Blackwood understood.  The aliens had taken Ironhorse and somehow produced a clone.  They had sifted through the Colonel's memories, programming the replica into a perfect killing machine – a Paul Ironhorse without the soul of the real man.  But Ironhorse had discovered a weakness.  If he died, so did the clone.  But was that the future that was set, or was that simply what the Colonel thought was set?  Where was the shaman?

          The click of the Beretta's hammer locking back echoed in the room, mixing with the ghostly blue light and thunder in a weird symphony of unreality.  Where were they?  The Cottage?  The land of shadows?  The Colonel's mind?  Harrison struggled desperately for some hold on reality, but it curled away from him like smoke.

          He watched Ironhorse's finger pull the trigger back, a deafening report shaking the living room while lightning danced against the window panes in the French doors, illuminating the Colonel's death in pale blue clarity.

          The clone dropped, dissolving into nothing more than a bucketful of putrid green slime.  Debi screamed and bolted to Suzanne, who engulfed her in a tight embrace, rocking her from side to side.

          Kincaid remained motionless, staring down at the body of Ironhorse.  "You bastard," he said softly.  "Always the hero, aren't you?"

          Harrison's knees buckled and he dropped down next to the corpse.  The entry wound didn't look too bad, but the smear of blood and tissue on the wall behind them spoke of the death-dealing exit.  Reaching out, Blackwood eased the gun from Ironhorse's hand and hurled it away in anger and frustration.

          Disregarding the blood, he reached out and drew the body into his lap, cradling it with the same tenderness Suzanne showed Debi.  The lightning continued, and thunder vibrated through the Cottage, growing louder until the sturdy house exploded, throwing them into a world of tumbling iridescent black chaos.

          When the noise and tumult subsided, Harrison found he was sitting in a spaceless void.  Colors swirled around him, but gave no sense of depth to the place. He was still holding the body of Paul Ironhorse, but the warrior was dressed in white buckskins, elaborately beaded in blue and silver.  The wounds were gone.

          Suzanne and Debi, Norton and Kincaid were there, surrounding them, watching while Harrison continued to hold the warrior.

          "What's that?" Debi asked, pointing to the location of the doorway the warrior's soul used to re-enter the Colonel's body.

          Blackwood looked and saw a thin filament of silver floating out from the doorway.  Following it upward with his eyes, he saw Ironhorse floating above them, watching.  This Ironhorse wore the same ritual buckskins, but they shimmered with an ephemeral substancelessness.

          "Paul?"

          "Let me go, Harrison.  I'm too dangerous to you now.  They have my clone.  You have to let me go."

          Blackwood gripped the body tighter, realizing that he was the only thing binding the man to the world of the living.  "I can't, Paul.  We need you, especially if they've found a way to clone humans.  You found one weakness, we _can_ find others."

          "If I come back, they can use me against you.  They can make that happen.  I can't take that chance.  I just can't."

          "That's not your chance to take, Colonel," Kincaid snapped.  "It's ours."

          Ironhorse's head cocked slightly to one side, an eyebrow arching.  "A little humanity's left in that soul after all, John?" he asked with a wry smile.  "Watch out for them, Kincaid."

          The Brit's jaws clenched.  "Damn it, Ironhorse, don't you get it?  They don't need _me_ , they need _you!_ "

          "Colonel?"

          The floating figure's attention abruptly shifted.  "Yes, Debi?"

          "I don't want you to be dead."

          "I know, sweetheart," he told her, drifting nearer to the abandoned body still being clutched by Harrison.

          "Please, Paul," Suzanne said.  "She's lost so much.  We can beat this, together, I know we can.  Look how far we've come.  Come home."

          "I could be responsible for her death, Suzanne.  How can I take that chance?"

          "You won't hurt me," Debi argued with youthful certainty.

          "Or me, either," Norton added.  "You need me around too much to keep you in line.  Not to mention my expertise with the Mr. Coffee.  Colonel, listen to them.  You don't really think we're up to breaking in another soldier, do you?"

          Ironhorse smiled momentarily.

          Harrison knew they were reaching the man, he could feel it, but it was only making the Colonel's conviction to protect them by not returning all the stronger.  He had to try something else.

          "You're nothing but a selfish bastard," Blackwood spat, letting the fear he was feeling spill out sounding like anger.  Laying the body aside, he climbed to his feet, yelling, "You and your damned honor!  You're nothing more than a hypocrite!  A toy soldier!"

          "Blackwood—" Ironhorse started, his voice tightening.

          "All your talk about duty and honor, it's— it's all bullshit!  You're running out on us, Colonel!  You're deserting your responsibility.  Your duty!"

          "I'm trying to protect you!  _That's_ my job!  My duty!"

          "Your job?" Harrison yelled.  "Your _job_ , Colonel, if you care to recall, is to fight a war.  Your job is to help destroy the aliens.  Your job is with us!  Not filling up a grave!  You can't fight from a grave!"

          Ironhorse floated above the people who meant so much to him, confused and uncertain.  The path had seemed so clear only a moment before, but now it had faded into a tangle of briars and brambles.  Sensing a new presence he looked around – the soldier's instincts still operating.

          His grandfather and Shio stood close by, each dressed in the traditional garments of a shaman on a vision quest.  They were not floating as the soldier was, but stood, firmly grounded on a grassy hill – a hill like those from Ironhorse's childhood.

          "Grandfather?"

          "They're right, Paul.  A warrior doesn't turn his back on his tribe, strange as it is."

          "Even if it's to save them from harm, Grandfather?"

          "The future is never fixed, Tay'ah," Shio said, using a ceremonial name for the essence of Ironhorse's spirit.

          Confusion wrinkled across the soldier's face.  "But if there's even a chance…  Help me, Grandfather," he pleaded, looking to the old man.  "What do I do?"

          "You have a warrior's spirit, let it guide your actions."

          Voices washed over the three men like breezes.  Ironhorse recognized the tones and timbers:  Harrison, still angry; Suzanne, coaxing; Norton, cajoling; Debi, frightened.

          His grandfather nodded.  Ironhorse had to make a choice.

          The astral soldier looked back at Harrison, who was again holding his lifeless body tightly in his arms.  The love and friendship radiating from the man, from the gathered group, even from Kincaid, was almost tangible, and the realization shook the very essence of Ironhorse's soul.

          At that moment Paul Ironhorse saw his friends as they existed in some greater amalgamation:  Suzanne the flickering fire, ready to burst into hot flames in her anger at the aliens, yet gently warming her daughter.  Debi, a playful breeze, incorruptible, promising a storm that would one day build against the invaders.  Norton, solid and stable, reminding them of their ties to the earth.  And, although bound himself, Norton's spirit was still as free as an untouched forest.  And Harrison, like the ocean, rising and falling in tides of intensity and calm, affection and intellect, nurturing and still capable of destruction, so deep and unpredictable.

          Ironhorse studied the newest man.  John Kincaid.  Body and blood.  A fellow warrior.  He understood the darker aspects of Ironhorse's soul like none of the others could.  He'd been undisciplined once, but Paul had never denied the promise the man possessed.  He had grown, fulfilling that promise.  Kincaid was man he could trust at his back.

          Ironhorse floated closer to the inert form that called to him in its own voice.  He dipped closer to the body, feeling its tug, like gravity, reaching out and pulling at him.

          What was he?  What was Paul Ironhorse?

          Spirit.

          I'm the spirit?

          "Yes," Shio said, his voice echoing in Ironhorse's consciousness.  "You're their warrior spirit, the faith that refuses to give up, even when everything's lost.  If they lose their spirit, the body won't fight, the breath will fall still, and the spark of life will die away.  There will be no ground left to walk or build on, no more water to give and sustain life."

          The tug came stronger now, and the astral Ironhorse let it pull him closer to the bindings of bone and muscle that ached to be infused.

          "Come home, Colonel," Harrison whispered.  "We need you, my friend."

          Ironhorse's body arched against the straps.  Falling back, he gasped in a deep breath of air, immediately crying out at the sharp burning pain it ignited in his chest.  He hurt everywhere.

          Blackwood looked at the others, wondering if he looked as tired as they did.  Only Debi seemed to have taken the experience in stride, and he had no doubt that they had all witnessed the Colonel's death and resurrection.

          Shio stood and walked over to the bound man, cutting him free.  When he finished, he called once to the young men waiting outside.  They entered, carrying blankets.  Handing one to each of the Blackwood Project members, Shio covered Ironhorse himself, then he turned to Harrison.

          "Get some sleep."

          The astrophysicist nodded, his eyes already beginning to close.  And he almost gave in.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

_I had a vision of eagles and horses_

_High on a ridge in a race with the wind_

_Going higher and higher and faster and faster_

_On eagles and horses I'm flying again…_

 

          Harrison woke, still in the earthlodge, to the uncomfortable feeling of being watched, intently.  Forcing his eyes open, the first thing he noticed was the absence of the others.  While they had quickly fallen asleep under the blankets Shio had given them, Harrison had forced himself to remain awake, watching Ironhorse as he rested, wanting to be sure the man was really back with them to stay.  It was nearly dawn when he finally gave up the fight and laid down to sleep.  He looked at his watch; that had been less than an hour ago.

          Norton's voice drifted in from outside the lodge, then the others', punctuated by Debi's laughter.  How long had it been since they'd laughed?

          Rolling his head to the side he found a pair of black eyes regarding him, amusement only half-buried in their depths.  The infamous Ironhorse stare had worked its mischief again.

          "Good morning, Doctor," Ironhorse said, his voice still weak.

          "How would I know?  You stared me awake.  Do you know how annoying that is, to have eyes boring into the back of your skull?"

          Paul's eyes crinkled at the corners.

          God, it was good to see him awake!  Blackwood didn't even try to hide the silly grin he knew was on his face.  However, Ironhorse's grin was quickly replaced by a grimace and Harrison sat up.

          "Are you all right?"

          The Colonel shook his head.  Pulling into a fetal position, he buried his face in the crook of his arms, his body shaking.

          Blackwood scrambled over to his friend, reaching out to hold his shoulder.  "What's wrong?  Should I get Shio?"

          "Clone," he responded through clenched teeth.  "They're moving him."

          "Moving?"  Harrison's mind raced with possibilities.  There _was_ a clone still out there.  And it was still viable.  "Easy, Colonel, you're not ready to rejoin the war just yet."

          Ironhorse panted.  "We have to find that thing, _now_.  As long as the aliens control it, I'm a danger to you and the others."

          "I accept that, but you're in no condition to—"

          "Blackwood," the soldier growled, "it doesn't make a damn bit of difference what condition I'm in, we've got to destroy that thing, or—"  The sentence was cut short by a sharp intake of breath.

          Blackwood ground his teeth together, then offered what comfort he could.  "Colonel, listen to me," he said after the soldier was resting more quietly.  "You need a few days to rest."

          "Doc—"

          "Hear me out.  Kincaid and I will go back to the Cottage.  We'll see what we can turn up.  Maybe we can locate the men who found you.  Maybe they can give us an idea where you escaped from.  Let us see what we can find; then, if we don't come up with something, I'll leave it in your hands.  You call the next play."

          Ironhorse weighed the idea.  It was still risky, if the aliens found a way to control him through the clone before Harrison and Kincaid found it…  "On one condition."

          "Which is?"

          "Shio secures me in here so I can't escape, just in case.  And—"

          "That was one, Colonel."

          Ironhorse pinned Blackwood with a serious black glare.

          "All right, what else?" the astrophysicist asked.

          "I want your word, your word, Harrison, that you'll come back in seventy-two hours if you don't find anything.  Three days, Doctor.  No more.  And take one of the Omegans with you."

          "Colonel, that's hardly enough—"

          "We can't take the chance."  The words drained the small reserve of energy he'd built up over a night's rest, and Ironhorse let his eyes fall closed while he panted for breath.

          Blackwood nodded.  The man was right.  It was dangerous.  "Deal.  Now, you get some rest.  I'll go tell the others and get ready."

          A soft call from inside the lodge stopped Harrison before he left.  He paused at the door.  "Did you say something?"

          "I said, be careful," Ironhorse repeated.

          Harrison smiled briefly.  "We will."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Dobbs!" Kincaid called across the crowded tavern.  The man's head snapped up, immediately focusing on the source of the disturbance.  Spotting Kincaid, he ducked his head back down and began to work his way through the crowd away from the mercenary.

          A quick shuffle and Kincaid cut the man off before he could disappear into the small storage room and out the back door.

          "What're you doin' here?" Dobbs asked, his voice shaky.

          "We need to talk to you, and Deke."

          Dobbs' eyes narrowed and the Brit was sure he saw dollar signs light up in their depths.

          "You do, now, do ya?"

          "Look, we don't have time for the games," Harrison said, stepping up to join them from the darkness of the storage room.  "You take us to where he is and you'll get paid."

          The man smiled, revealing his tobacco-stained teeth.  "Yeah, sure.  Why not."

          Kincaid wasn't sure he could find the hideout again, but he had a good notion of the general vicinity.  Dobbs had taken them out to a beat-up old jeep.  Asking them to tie blindfolds over their eyes nearly sank the deal, but his reassurances to Kincaid convinced the mercenary to go along.  Besides, they were running out of time.

          Kincaid guessed they were within a mile of the hotel where they had picked up Ironhorse.  _Makes sense_ , he thought.  I can't see Deke carrying the Colonel too far, even if he did think he could make some money off him.

          "Okay, you can take off the blindfolds," Dobbs said, braking to a stop.

          The two men reached up and pulled the pieces of cloth off, squinting into the late afternoon sun until their eyes adjusted.  Deke was leaning against the back side of an old liquor store, the rest of the alley strewn with garbage.

          "They have a couple of questions for you," Dobbs explained.  "They'll pay for the answers."

          Deke grunted and Harrison took it as a signal to get the exchange over with. "Look, we need to know where you found Ironhorse."

          Deke's eyebrows rose slightly.  "Why?"

          "We think there might be others there, or near there, who need our help," Kincaid lied.

          "That so?"

          "Can you tell us where you found him, or not?" Blackwood asked, annoyed with the man's lack of cooperation.

          "I can, but if I do, I might have to relocate a very lucrative enterprise that I've spent a couple of months setting up, and I don't want to do that."

          "We don't care about your illegal activities," Kincaid growled.  "We just want to know the location."

          Dobbs nodded at his partner, and Deke grunted his opinion.  "It was an old factory, over on Dexter.  The one next to the old water treatment plant.  In fact, I found him crawling out of one of the culverts."

          Harrison shuddered at the images the news conjured in his mind, but he shook it off.

          Kincaid reached into his pocket and removed several bills, handing them over to the man.  "Thank you," he said.

          "Yeah, you're welcome," Deke replied.  "A pleasure doin' business with you."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Damn it!"

          Kincaid ducked to avoid the plastic bucket as it sailed across the empty room, propelled by a swift kick from Harrison's foot.

          "We're too late.  Ironhorse was right.  They already moved the whole operation."

          The mercenary nodded.  "Look, I'm going to make a sweep of the place.  You stay here, see if you can figure out anything from those," he said, nodding at the dried pods that they both knew had held Ironhorse and the clone.  "Fire off a shot if there's trouble."

          Blackwood nodded.

          He waited until the Brit blended into the darkness before turning his attention to the alien devices.  Why they hadn't taken them as well confused the scientist.  The aliens were meticulous about leaving no traces of their presence.

          _Unless the aliens are coming back for them!_ he concluded silently.  All he and Kincaid had to do was wait.  When the aliens arrived to clean up the rest of their mess, they could follow them back to their new location, and, hopefully, to Ironhorse's clone!

          Walking around the two chambers, he noticed the identical ribbing along the sides.  A chill wrapped around his shoulders as he pictured the Colonel encased in one, while in the other the clone formed…

          He shook his head to clear away the images.  This was no time to get spooked.

          Leaning tentatively into one of the chambers, he looked for some clue as to how the clones were formed, but there was nothing.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison had finished taking several samples from the two cocoons when Kincaid returned at a run.  "Truck's coming, looks like trouble."

          The two men quickly escaped into the dark shadows of the building and waited.  Five men entered and removed the pods, a sixth remaining behind to clean up the spot until it looked like the rest of the abandoned factory.  When he left, there was no trace of the aliens ever having been there.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "We lost them," Kincaid explained.  "There was an accident, and—"

          "We lost them," Harrison wrapped up the report, the frustration clear in his voice.

          Ironhorse nodded, his expression distracted.  Sitting in a folding chair near the campfire, he was still weak and in some pain, but he was managing to keep the majority of it buried – although not deep enough to be missed by Harrison's careful appraisal.

          "Colonel?" Harrison questioned, disliking the expression on Ironhorse's face.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "It wasn't necessary, Doctor.  I should've realized it.  No need—"  He stopped short, shifting to a more comfortable position.  "I know where it is.  We have to go." The last came out in a whisper.

          "How can you know?" Kincaid asked.  "Besides, you won't get ten steps in your condition."

          "It's too soon, Paul," Suzanne agreed.  "You need a few more days to gain some strength back.  You almost died—"

          "We have to go, people.  Now."  Arguing with them would exhaust the reserves he'd built up over the past three days, but he understood, better than the others, the urgency of locating and destroying the clone.  He'd take the Omega squad and crawl out after the clone if they refused to help, and Blackwood knew it, too.  Ironhorse could see it in the man's blue eyes.

          Shio joined them.  Holding out a small leather pouch, he hung it around the Colonel's neck.  "You have powerful spirit friends, Paul Ironhorse.  Call on them when the time comes.  They won't fail you."

          "Thank you, Shio," Paul whispered.  "I don't like it, but I have to walk this road to the end."

          "It's your path, but remember, you're not alone," Shio replied, helping the injured man to his feet, where he swayed unsteadily.

          Harrison and Kincaid stepped up to steady the Colonel, and ended up carrying him to the waiting chopper.  Suzanne shook her head and followed with Debi and Norton.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Several minutes into the flight, Ironhorse's eyes opened with a start.

          "What?" Blackwood asked.

          "He's waiting for me.  He knows I'm coming."

          "The clone?" Harrison questioned.

          Paul nodded.

          "Where?"

          "He'll be at the Cottage."

          "The clone's at the Cottage, right now?" Suzanne asked, her eyes rounding.

          Ironhorse shook his head.  "Not yet, but he will be."  He reached up and fingered the medicine bag.  "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask your help, people.  And it's going to be dangerous."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "I don't like this," Kincaid whispered to Harrison as they unloaded from the chopper.  "If the clone is at the Cottage, it might be a trap.  There might be others."

          Blackwood nodded.  "We'll go in assuming that they're waiting for us.  If it's just the clone, we let the Colonel call the shots."

          "But taking Debi in there?  It's crazy, he—"

          "I gave him my word, Kincaid.  And Suzanne and Debi both agreed."

          "But I didn't," the mercenary said.

          Blackwood reached out and grabbed the sleeve of the Brit's shirt.  "Listen to me.  I appreciate all you've done to help us, but we're going to do this his way.  Understand?"

          "You're going to get him killed, and maybe a few of us as well, Blackwood."

          "I don't think so.  He's…"  Harrison trailed off, unsure how to explain the situation to the man.  "We don't know everything that's happening here.  He does.  Somehow he has a better perspective on all this than we do.  I trust him.  We do what he tells us.  That's the way it has to be."  The young merc looked away, angry.  "We need your help, but it has to be on his terms."

          Kincaid shook his head in frustration, then ran a hand over his dark hair.  He sighed.  "All right, I'll go along.  I guess I owe him that much."

          Blackwood smiled.  "Thank you."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The Cottage was dark, and the members of the Blackwood Project left the van lights off as they passed by the main gate and the guard on duty.  The sentry signaled that all was quiet.  The Omega squad was already deployed around the house and grounds, in case anything more than the clone showed up.  Ironhorse ordered them to stay outside the Cottage, regardless of what they heard, until he, Suzanne or Harrison signaled them.

          In the distance, the first growls of thunder echoed along the hills, sending a cold chill along Harrison's spine.  It was too much like the trip into the land of shadows to make him comfortable.

          Parking near the guesthouse, they climbed out of the van.  Ironhorse paused, looking at Norton, who would be staying in the vehicle.

          "I'll be fine, big guy," the black man said, lifting the Beretta he had stashed between his leg and the side of his wheelchair.  "Besides, Stavrakos will be in here with me."

          Paul nodded, reaching out to briefly squeeze the man's shoulder.

          They headed directly for the house, going up the stairs along the outside so they could enter through the living room French doors.

          "You're sure about this?" Blackwood asked.

          "Living room," Ironhorse said by way of an answer.

          Harrison nodded and started forward.  A bolt of lightning collided with a tree near the pond, the following concussion ripping through the air, causing Debi to squeal in fright.  She jumped away from Suzanne.

          "Debi!  No!" Ironhorse yelled.

          The astrophysicist, disorientated by the deafening clap of thunder and the memories from the third healing, grabbed Ironhorse's arm, but the soldier broke free, lunging into the darkness, Kincaid right behind him.  Suzanne reached out, frantically groping in the darkness for her daughter.

          Harrison corralled one of her hands.  "She's not here, Suzanne, come on."

          There was panic in her voice.  "Harrison, it's happening, just like—"

          "No, it's not.  Norton's safe in the van, and we're together.  Now, come on."

          The pair made their way as swiftly as they could to the living room.  Although they each knew what to expect, seeing it was still a shock.  There were two Paul Ironhorses.  One leaned against the wall, his body shaking with exhaustion.  The other held the young girl, her neck expertly tucked into the crook of his elbow.

          "I knew you'd come for me, brother," the replica said, its voice that of the Colonel's.  "I left the masters.  I had to find you, on my own."

          "I can destroy you."

          The clone smiled indulgently.  "You don't have the strength.  And do you know why?  We are one, brother.  You need me as much as I need you."

          "I only need this," the soldier said, easing the Beretta from the back of his jeans.

          The clone's expression faltered.  "I am Ironhorse," the replica insisted.

          "Like hell you are."

          "I'll kill the girl!" it threatened, tightening the vise around Debi's throat.  Her blue eyes, wide with fear, never left Ironhorse's.

          The Colonel snapped the automatic up under his chin faster than Harrison thought him capable, thumbing back the hammer as he did.

          "No," the clone breathed in horror.  Its hold on Debi eased slightly.

          Ironhorse's gaze locked with the girl's.

          "Debi," he said slowly, drawing out her name, his finger beginning to press on the trigger.  " _Down!_ "

          Debi threw herself forward with all the strength she could muster, jerking the clone off balance as she broke free.  Ironhorse wasted no time snapping the gun out from under his own chin and drawing a sight on the monster that had nearly cost him his life.  Centering on the replica's forehead, he squeezed off three quick rounds, all of which found their target.  Two more shots from Kincaid's gun struck the replica in the chest.

          The clone fell, already beginning to decompose.

          The Beretta slipped out of Paul's hands, his body echoing the spastic dance of the clone's, with one major difference – he collapsed, whole, into the waiting arms of Harrison Blackwood.

          "Colonel?" Blackwood called, his own pulse still racing.  The clone said Ironhorse needed him.  What if killing the clone also—

          No.  It couldn't be.  But it was so close to what he'd seen.  Too close to the scenario they had planned for the Ironhorse clone to enact.  The aliens had nearly won this round.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          His hands shaking, Blackwood reached for the Colonel's neck, expertly feeling out a pulse.  It was there, and stronger than ever.  He hugged the unconscious man to his chest, his gaze rising to the ceiling as he repeated the Colonel's usual heartfelt benediction.  "Thank you, Grandfather, or whoever you are, for looking out for this stubborn, crazy Indian."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Suzanne hugged her daughter, the pair following as Blackwood and Kincaid lifted Ironhorse and carried him to the elevator and then to his room.  Laying him on the bed, Kincaid headed out to get Norton and check with Stavrakos.

          Suzanne and Harrison worked quickly to examine the unconscious man while Debi sat on the floor along the wall at the head of the bed, watching.

          "Pulse is elevated, but strong," Suzanne announced.  "Respiration's a little rapid.  He's okay."

          Blackwood took the Navajo blanket folded at the foot of the bed and covered the soldier, then reached for the light switch.  "Debi, you stay here, we're going to check the rest of the Cottage."

          The girl nodded, watching her mother and Harrison leave.  Outside she could hear the Omegans entering the house.  She was safe now and so was the Colonel.  She moved to the side of his bed, smiling down at Paul and tugging the blanket up to his chin.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison sat, watching as Ironhorse slept, something the scientist had been doing on and off for the past seventy-two hours.  At the moment, Paul was also dreaming, his eyes flicking rapidly beneath closed eyelids, and the scientist hoped it was a pleasant vision.  While it was true that the man needed the sleep, Harrison still wished Ironhorse would wake up and put an end to the nightmare once and for all.

          General Wilson had arranged for a doctor to remain at the Cottage until Ironhorse was on his feet again, and the Colonel's room looked like a reasonable replica of a hospital room, complete with monitors and several sets of tubing carrying out basic bodily functions.  The IV's were keeping his body fed with nutrients and fluids, but until he woke up and began his trip to full recovery, they would all continue to worry.

          The Cottage was safe, the grounds secure, the Omega squad busy with exercises and security under Sergeants Derriman's and Coleman's able supervision while they waited for the Colonel to heal.  Suzanne was already studying what was left of the clone to see if she could come up with another way to destroy them, and Debi was splitting her spare time between sitting at Paul's bedside, reading to him, and working on a surprise for him – the nature of which even Suzanne was unable to pry out of her.

          Even Kincaid had begun to find his own niche at the Cottage.  At times he participated with the Omegans, at others he trailed Norton around his lab as the computer expert tried to locate the group of aliens who had abducted Ironhorse and subjected him to the cloning procedure.  It was a long shot at best, but it gave them something concrete to focus on.  The conversations Norton and Kincaid engaged in made it sound exactly as if the Colonel was back.

          Harrison smiled.  _Just what we need… two of them!_

          Ironhorse's restlessness increased and Blackwood reached out to rest a comforting hand on the man's arm.

          Paul came awake with a start.

          "Easy, Colonel," Harrison said, leaning forward to take a hold on the man's shoulders and press him back against the bed.  "You'll unplug all this good stuff."

          The soldier's brown eyes locked on the blue ones regarding him.

          Ironhorse was scared, and Blackwood watched the soldier fight to regain his composure.  _Must have been one helluva nightmare_ , the astrophysicist concluded.  Deciding it might be best to give the man some privacy, Harrison released his hold,  only to get no more than a fraction of an inch away before one of the soldier's hands trapped his wrist in a tight vise.

          "Please," Paul whispered.  "Don't leave."

          "I'm not going anywhere."

          The grip relaxed slightly, but Paul was still reluctant to let go.

          Blackwood closed his free hand over Ironhorse's and held on.

          "Is it over?"

          Harrison's heart hurt at the uncertainty that rang in the man's words.  "I think so.  The clone is gone, destroyed.  You did it.  You beat them at their own game, Colonel."

          The brown eyes closed for a moment, as the warrior silently recited a prayer to the spirits.  When he opened them again, he started to speak, but only got as far as, "Harrison—" before he was interrupted.

          "You should be resting, Colonel.  Not talking."  The brown eyes asked for understanding and Blackwood nodded.  "We all get scared, Paul.  If we didn't, knowing what we do, doing what we do, we'd go crazy."

          Ironhorse nodded.  He understood that kind of fear, but this was another.

          "What you've been through, it's got to have some effect, but it'll pass – in time.  We'll be here to help you, if you'll let us."  Paul nodded and Harrison smiled.  "Look, get some more rest.  I'll check with the doctor, and if he says okay, I'll go get Mrs. Pennyworth to fix up some soup for you.  That has to be better than sugar water via a direct tap."

          Another nod.  "It's good to be home, Harrison," Ironhorse said softly, his eyelids falling closed again.

          "It's good to have you home, Paul."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse moved slowly across the living room, forcing himself to look at the spot where the clone had held Debi…  When?  A week ago?  A lifetime.  Literally.

          He still wasn't sure he understood it all.  It was too complicated, too unreal, like a dream that faded into reality and back into a dream, and he couldn't distinguish the boundaries anymore.

          The physician General Wilson had sent wasn't happy at the speed with which Ironhorse abandoned his sickbed, but anything that smacked of hospitals made the soldier nervous.  After all, he was almost completely healed, physically.  True, he was still weak from the lack of exercise and fatigue, but the conditioning program he planned to start tomorrow would return his strength and flexibility in no time.  An hour on the firing range, earlier, had proven he hadn't lost his touch with a weapon.

          Yes, he was ready to rejoin the war again, but he was still low on a different sort of energy.

          He could feel it returning, slowly, but there seemed to be something blocking the last steps to his return to total health.  _Maybe it's the nightmares_ , he thought.  They still crept in from time to time, but the aftermath was getting easier and easier to dispel.  No, it was something else.

          Nagging doubts and worries still haunted his mind.  How could they ever be sure there wasn't another Ironhorse clone out there?  How could he ever be sure of anything, anymore?

          He stared at the spot where the clone had stood.  _What's the point?_ he asked himself.  _You can't worry about things you have absolutely no control over_ , he told himself.  _Those you simply react to when they come up, not dwell on, waiting for them to happen.  There's enough here to deal with without that.  Still…_

          Guilt, he realized.  It was guilt, pure and simple.  He blamed himself for getting caught, for putting the rest of them through his—

          Can I forgive myself?  And should I?  Can I really protect these people?

          "Colonel?"

          "In here, Debi," he called quietly, hearing her at his office door.  The girl certainly had forgiven him, and she, far more than the others, had a reason not to. To think that any part of himself, real, or even the clone, could harm the teen…

          He shook his head.  He'd willingly give his life before he let that happen.  He nearly had.

          Debi bounded through the door, her unending energy never failing to impress the soldier.  If the team could just find a way to harness that against the aliens the invaders would have been sushi a whole lot sooner.

          "I have something for you," she announced with a great deal of seriousness.

          "Oh?"  His eyebrows climbed, noting that she was holding whatever it was behind her back.

          "I started it while we were in Carson.  One of the men there made it for me, but I did all the decorations by myself.  Mom hasn't even seen it yet.  Shio said that the decorations make it magic, and the strength comes from the figure itself.  I finished it yesterday.  I had to borrow some of your books.  I hope that's okay."

          "I'm sure it is," he said, curious now.

          "I want you to have it now."  She held out a horse effigy, the slightly elongated body carefully polished and decorated with a series of painted medicine designs sacred to the Cherokee and Blackfoot tribes.  It must have taken the girl a great deal of painstaking time and dedication to reproduce the designs in such detail.  It was definitely an object of power.

          Paul smiled, feeling his throat tighten.  It was also an object of love.  He felt the last wall to his healing melt away.  He was loved.

          He was a man.  He had his faults.  But he was still loved.  And if they could love him, and forgive him, surely he could do the same for himself.

          Reaching out, Ironhorse took the effigy with the respect he would accord any sacred artifact.  "It's absolutely beautiful, Debi."

          "Really?"

          "Yes.  It's a work of art.  Thank you," he said softly.

          She beamed.  "I wanted it to be perfect."

          "You succeeded.  May I give you something in return?"

          "You don't have to," she said, then curiosity got the better of her.  "What?"

          "A poem."

          "A poem?  You write poetry?"

          Ironhorse smiled, walking over to stand near the low-burning fireplace.  He leaned on one hand, braced against the mantel.  "Sometimes, but this poem was written by a Laguna woman, Leslie Silko.  The Laguna live in the southwest.  When I first read it, it touched me inside, so I memorized it.  I want to share it with you, to say thank you."

          "Okay," she said, her eyes dancing.

          "It's called _Where Mountain Lion Lay Down With Deer_ ," he said, closing his eyes for a moment, pulling up the words committed to memory long ago.  When he spoke, Paul's voice flowed with the storyteller's cadence, breathing life into the poem.

          "I climb the black rock mountain, stepping from day to day, silently.  I smell the wind for my ancestors, pale blue leaves, crushed wild mountain smell.  Returning, up the gray stone cliff, where I descended, a thousand years ago, returning to faded black stone, where mountain lion lay down with deer.

          "It is better to stay up here, watching wind's reflection in tall yellow flowers.  The old ones who remember me are gone, the old songs are all forgotten, and the story of my birth.  How I danced in snow-frost moonlight, distant stars to the end of the Earth, how I swam away, in freezing mountain water, narrow mossy canyon tumbling down, out of the mountain, out of deep canyon stone, down the memory, spilling out, into the world."[2]

          The girl smiled, stepping forward to wrap her arms around the man's midsection.  "It's like you, being born again."

          "Yes, Debi."  He was surprised at her insight, but then, she _was_ growing up, and in a household with several very bright, very observant people.

          "I'm so glad you decided not to be dead," she said, squeezing him tighter.

          He fought back a smile at the words she picked.  "I know.  But remember, what we're all doing is very dangerous.  I might have to leave all of you before this is over, but it doesn't mean I don't care."

          "I know that, too," she said, holding on as though she was afraid to let go.

          He wrapped his arms around the young woman and hugged her back.

          "Hey, me, too!" came Suzanne's voice from the doorway.  Walking over, she slipped her arms around both Debi and Ironhorse.  "That was beautiful, Paul.  Thank you," she whispered into his ear and was rewarded by a deep red blush rising to the man's face.  "Good to have you back."

          "Hey, can anyone get in on this?" Norton asked as he rolled in, surprised to catch the three of them in such an interesting position.

          "Sure, Norton," Debi giggled.  "The Colonel's just a big teddy bear right now."       Ironhorse stiffened slightly, the blush deepening, but he couldn't stop the smile from growing when Drake rolled Gertrude up and wrapped his arms around the girl's waist, giving her a tickle for good measure.

          Debi giggled again.

          "I thought you were supposed to be resting, big guy."

          Ironhorse grunted when Debi's grip tightened further around his mid-section, in response to Norton's continued attack.  "I am, Mr. Drake."

          "Hey, why wasn't I invited?" Harrison asked, entering the living room from the terrace behind Ironhorse, causing him to jump.

          "Blackwood!" Paul bellowed.  "How many times do I have to tell you, don't sneak up on me like that!"

          The others laughed when Harrison casually grabbed the soldier's shoulders and simpered, "I'm sorry, Colonel, it won't happen again."

          Ironhorse set his tone on low-boil and growled, "Doctor—" but it was clear the incorrigible scientist was playing.

          "Oh, let me go grab a camera.  This is definitely one for the family album," Kincaid said, lounging in the entrance to the living room.

          Ironhorse ignored the blush he knew still painted his cheeks, basking in the warmth of the people he treasured.  Looking at the mercenary, he could see the sudden pain in the young man's eyes.  He'd lost a brother.  He'd risked his life to help them.  But Kincaid was feeling like the outsider, and Ironhorse understood that feeling all too well.

          "Kincaid?" the Colonel said, a silly grin working its way across his face.  It was a good thing the Omegans weren't around, this just wouldn't cut it as an image for their leader.

          Debi wriggled free from Norton and ran over to Kincaid.  Grabbing his hand, she dragged him back to the huddle.

          Ironhorse extended his hand and the mercenary took it.  "Welcome to the Blackwood Project, Mr. Kincaid."

          "Yep, we're just one big happy family," Harrison enthused, patting Ironhorse's back, the puckish twinkle back in his eyes.

          Ironhorse sighed silently.  Things would become all too normal soon – the pranks, the teasing…  Oh, who was he kidding, he loved it.  Even if it did drive him crazy!

          Suzanne leaned over and kissed Kincaid on the cheek.  "Thank you, for all your help."

          It was the Brit's turn to blush, and the Colonel felt better that he wasn't alone anymore in the red-face category.  These were good people.  Like his grandfather had said, they were a very good tribe, even if they were a trifle peculiar at times.

          "Can we go get pizza?" Debi asked.

          "Great idea!" Norton said.

          Harrison and Ironhorse exchanged glances.  "What do you say, Colonel?  You feel up to making a public appearance?"

          He nodded.  "Just what the doctor ordered, Doctor."

          "Well, this doctor is ordering mushroom and sausage," Suzanne said, heading for the door, her arm around her daughter's shoulders.

          "Fungus?" Kincaid lamented and the other three men laughed.

          "I concur," replied Ironhorse.

          "I say we make some alternative battle plans then, Colonel.  And quickly."  He motioned to Ironhorse, and Paul nodded and led the way out of the living room.

          "It's about time things got back to normal around here," Norton commented softly to Harrison as they followed the two soldiers.

          Blackwood nodded.  It was indeed.  The realities of their continuing war could wait until morning; tonight they would celebrate their victory.

 

  


* * *

[1]  All music quotes taken from the song, "Eagles and Horses," from _The Flower that Shattered the Stone_ by John Denver (Windstar, 1990).

[2]  "Where Mountain Lion Lay Down With Deer," in _Storyteller_ by Leslie Marmon Silko (Arcade Publishing, 1981).


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